


Of Physicists and Pianists.

by xxrisque



Series: Social Experiments and Sheet Music [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: College AU, F/M, Human AU, M/M, eventual SwissAus, pairings and characters added as they're introduced
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-19 13:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 68,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxrisque/pseuds/xxrisque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vash Zwingli, Physics major and resident sarcastic grump, is struggling to come to terms with the fact that he's probably been in love with his ridiculous best friend, Roderich, for the better part of ten years.</p><p>And if that wasn't bad enough, he has to deal with his asshole roommate grumbling about his ex-boyfriend, a baby sister who lives halfway across the country and to top it all off?</p><p>Roderich's getting married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: this was written for NaNoWriMo 2012. It's quite long as it stands now, and it will inevitably only get longer. Also, there are a number of 'OC' characters and some fanon human names used here.

"I'm just saying," Vash comments as he drags another huge box through their hallway to the sitting room, "the man is an asshole. I don't understand why you care so much; he obviously couldn't give a shit."

"You don't know that." Francis mumbles, more to himself than to Vash as he takes the box from him and searches for a label. "This is yours, by the way. Or I'm guessing it is, I didn't tape my boxes closed that haphazardly."

"Stop judging my work and help me move the rest of them. I fail to see why I should have to carry three crates of your clothes around while you sit and criticize me."

Francis huffs and climbs to his feet to take two of the boxes from the hallway into the sitting room.

"Is this everything? It doesn't seem like much."

"Roderich said he was bringing the rest of my stuff on his way to get Elizabeta." Vash replies with a frown set on his face.

"Are you alright? With the whole 'her moving in' business." Francis asks, settling on the floor to rip the duct tape away from the opening of the cardboard. "I think this is yours. I don't recall ever owning a green trench coat."

"I'm fine. I suppose I have to be, though. It's not like I have a say in how he conducts his relationships. Especially given I've never been in one."

"Hm." Francis replies, pushing the opened box to one side of the room and setting about another. "I do know how you feel, in a strange way. I still can't believe Arthur would do that."

"Like I said, the man is a pretty good example of an ass. If he can't keep his libido in check after five years of being with you, then he doesn't care. I'm sorry. I know I'm hardly an authority on functioning in a relationship, but that's not the point. He shouldn't have done it."

"I'm not even sure who the guy was. I have an idea, but I don't know for certain." Francis sighs, opening the box in front of him and finding only crockery and miscellaneous kitchenware.

"Do you need to?" Vash asks, frowning at him as he stands up. "Surely it's beside the point. He cheated on you and left you for the other man. He's not worth your time."

Francis bites back a snappy comment, leaning down to scoop up the box from the floor, when a knock on the front door startles him.

"That's probably Roderich." Vash announces quietly, getting to his feet and straightening his jeans. "I'll get it."

Francis frowns at him and disappears in to the kitchen. Vash exhales for a long moment, closes his eyes and runs his fingers through his choppy blonde bangs.

"Hello, Roderich." He says as he opens the door. His best friend looks back at him, dark eyes curious behind his glasses.

"Hey. I brought your stuff." Roderich gestures at the boxes that line the hall beside him. "You have a lot of crap, by the way. It's really heavy."

"Sorry." Vash laughs nervously, carding a hand through his hair and leaning to pick up a box.

"Let me help." Roderich interrupts, handing him a box and picking one up himself. "Besides, I want to see what your new place looks like."

"Well, it's kind of small. The bedrooms are both upstairs and there's a tiny office that we'll have to share, but it'll be okay. Francis wants to redecorate the whole place already, though. Apparently the beige and black offends him deeply."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from him." Roderich laughs as he sets the box down in front of the stairs.

Francis leans in from the kitchen and frowns at the both of them.

"Are you two talking about me?" He narrows his eyes and steps into the room, tying his wild blonde waves back into a loose ponytail with a ribbon he'd pulled from a box nearby.

"Maybe." Roderich says with a small smirk. "All good, though. Don't worry."

Francis rolls his eyes and disappears back into the sitting room to rip open more of the boxes.

"Shouldn't you be helping Elizabeta?" Vash asks as they set the last two boxes down beside the stairs.

"I told her I'd be a little late. I think she still had some packing to do, anyway. It's not like I need to rush." Roderich replies, pushing his dark hair away from his eyes.

"Well, you  _should_ probably go and get her. She's pretty impatient, if I remember." Vash comments, folding his arms over his chest and frowning at him.

"I suppose. She can be pretty grouchy." Roderich agrees, cocking his head slightly and smoothing his jacket down as he buttons it closed. "And she probably has more things than you do."

"So go." Vash says with a tiny, lopsided smile. "I don't mind; I'm perfectly capable of unpacking some boxes and building a few pieces of Swedish flat-pack furniture. I'll manage."

"If you're sure." Roderich replies as he lets Vash herd him towards the front door. "But don't be a stranger, okay? Just because we don't live together anymore doesn't mean we're not still best friends."

"I know, I know." Vash responds with a roll of his eyes. "You live three blocks away at best, it's not like it'll be a challenge to keep in touch, Christ."

"Good." Roderich smiles at him, a little bigger than usual, and pats him on the shoulder. "I'll see you around, then?"

"Yeah. See you." Vash nods, smiles loosely for a fraction of a second before he shuts the door in his face. Roderich frowns at the varnished wood for a second, pulls his jacket tighter around him and heads back to the street.

His cell phone vibrates at least three times in his pocket on the very short drive to Elizabeta's old apartment, and when he arrives, she's sitting outside on a pile of sealed, labelled boxes, tapping her foot and looking particularly displeased.

"You took your time." She comments with a raised eyebrow as he opens the car door and makes his way over to you. "Where have you been?"

"I went to give Vash the things he left. We got to talking." Roderich explains, picking up a full stack of boxes from beside his girlfriend.

"Oh. Is he alright? What with him moving out, and everything..." She trails off absently, playing with a strand of her mousy brown hair as she talks.

"He seemed okay. I think he was more worried about Francis than himself, if I'm being honest."

"What happened with him, again?"

"Well, he used to live downstairs. You'll know who he is; blonde, pretty tall, has a weird stubbly beard and he speaks in a really strong French accent. He's actually French, though. His boyfriend, Arthur –he's the angry English one with the thick eyebrows you really want to 'fix', whatever the hell that means- apparently slept with someone else. Heracles told me about it last time I saw him; he did tell me who it was but I don't remember; it was a while ago."

"Right. So Arthur still lives downstairs?"

"I think so." Roderich replies as he carefully squeezes the last box into the trunk of his car. "I don't see why he'd move out, too."

Elizabeta shrugs, walking around his car to climb into the passenger seat.

"Liz, promise me that for once in your life you  _won't_ meddle in their relationship? I know what you're like. You've done this before. Remember Ivan and Yao?"

"That was one time! It only went wrong because Yao was actually  _scared_ of Ivan and never thought to tell me before I set them up! It was his fault, he forgot to tell me."

"Yes, being sent on a blind date with a person you're terrified of is entirely your fault." Roderich rolls his eyes affectionately and laughs at her softly. She pouts at him and bats him playfully on the arm.

"Shut up and drive." She grumbles, tucking a few flyaway hairs behind her ear. "For that, you're putting all of my clothes on coat hangers when we get home."

"Remind me why I love you again?" Roderich complains loudly as he follows Elizabeta up the three flights of stairs to their apartment door; he can barely even see the steps past the enormous folding crates in his hands.

"Because I'm hilarious." She deadpans, fumbling with the key and pushing the door open. "And you told me I was cute and asked me out by leaving a note in a book. That takes dedication."

"I suppose you're right." Roderich smirks almost wryly, dumping the crates unceremoniously on the hallway rug and kissing her lightly. She smiles and kisses him back, before pushing at his shoulders softly to move him away.

"Now, you go get the rest of them while I start unpacking. The whole place looks like it needs a good dust, too..." She frowns at the thick coating of  _grey_ on the top of the dresser. "I can't believe between you and Vash, neither of you managed to learn how to vacuum."

Roderich raises an eyebrow at her and laughs quietly.

"I hate you so much." He comments as he disappears through the front door and down the steps to the main corridor.

"No, you don't!" She yells after him, and he sniggers to himself as he walks down the small flight of stairs to the second floor.

"Oh." Arthur stops in his tracks as he closes the front door to his own apartment. "Hello, Roderich."

"Hey, Arthur. How are things?" He asks as they fall in to step with each other as they walk down the stairs.

"They're okay. I just have to go sort out some disaster at the museum. Apparently Heracles can't work out how to arrange the Ancient Egyptian exhibit that's coming in, and all Sadik is doing is shout at him."

"Sounds like fun." Roderich laughs dryly, looking sideways at the other man for a moment. "Liz is moving in today, so sorry about any annoying noises from upstairs."

"It's fine." Arthur smiles half-heartedly at him –Roderich can tell, but chooses not to press him for anything- and turns towards his car. "As long as you don't argue in the night, then I don't mind."

"I'll keep that in mind." Roderich smiles and turns towards his own car. "I'll see you around."

"Yeah, you too." Arthur replies as he unlocks his car. "Look after yourself."

Roderich nods at him and watches absently as the Englishman climbs into his car and pulls away from the sidewalk. He exhales heavily and pulls open the trunk of his car, frowning at the still-huge pile of boxes in front of him. He stacks up a few of the lighter ones and grabs a bag of what can only be shoes before attempting to climb the stairs again.

He's halfway up the damn stairs again when his cell phone vibrates fiercely in his pocket. He sighs, climbs up to the second floor landing and sets everything down to check who wants him and what's so important that he needs to know  _now_.

He's just opened his cell phone when a grumbling Alois, the neighbour from upstairs, comes barrelling past him complaining loudly about 'those idiots can't do anything themselves, who knew that it was so difficult to bottle beer, good God'. Roderich holds back a laugh and instead focuses on his cell phone. He has a text from Vash.

_I forgot to mention it earlier, but I feel obligated to tell –or warn- you that Antonio and Gilbert are coming to visit tomorrow. They're bringing their boyfriends and a few other people, and I have a feeling they're going to want to meet –and I'm quoting Gilbert on this, by the way- 'Roddy's little girlfriend'. I suggest you hide Elizabeta somewhere far, far away._

Roderich almost smiles – _almost_ , because then he remembers what Gilbert and Antonio are like alone, never mind together, and that's discounting their weird friendship with Francis. His eyes widen and he suddenly realizes that he cannot let Elizabeta near these two idiots. Ever.

His cell phone vibrates in his hand as he thinks.

 _Wait, you_ did  _tell her that you've dated guys before, right? I know we were young-ish teenagers when you were with Antonio, and your thing with Gilbert didn't last that long, but you should have told her by now, I'd have guessed. God help you if you haven't._

Roderich swallows, because  _maybe_ he neglected to mention his past relationships to Elizabeta before now. Sure, she knows that he's been in relationships before her, but that's kind of where he stopped with those stories.

He shakes his head and pockets his cell phone, picking up the boxes and carrying on back to their apartment.

"You took your time." Elizabeta comments from the sitting room floor, where she's ensconced by innumerable pieces of veneered wood. "I've started building the coffee table."

"I can see that."

His cell phone vibrates as he talks, and he winces. She raises her eyebrows at him and tries to hide her smirk.

_Oh my god. You haven't told her, have you? Wow, I would really hate to be you right now._

"Come help." She says, taking hold of his wrist and pulling him down next to her. He lands with a loud thud and frowns at her as he settles himself properly.

"I should warn you that some old... Friends are visiting tomorrow." He announces as he leans away from her to reach for the instruction sheet that she'd abandoned on the other side of the room.

"Really? What are they like?" She asks, leaning past him to grab the screwdriver he'd taken. "Should I be worried?"

"Not really. I actually dated them when I was younger." He leans away from her cautiously and winces at her pointed silence.

"So I should be worried, then?" She smiles almost nervously and nudges him with her elbow gently.

"Not exactly. I think they're both in committed relationships now, by the sounds of things." He grabs one of the table legs from Elizabeta's other side and fumbles for the double-ended screw in the bag next to him.

"So, who are these mysterious women, then?" She smirks at him. He frowns, rolls his eyes and passes her the table leg.

"Well, they're..." Roderich hesitates, and Elizabeta turns to look at him. "They're kind of not women?"

"So men, then." Elizabeta shrugs and turns back to her instructions. "What are they like?"

Roderich frowns at her, and she turns back to him and raises an eyebrow at him.

"What?" She asks, dragging her hair over her shoulder as she looks back at him. "You didn't _seriously_ think I'd mind, did you?"

"Well, no, not exactly, but I was kind of worried about what you might say; that's why I didn't say anything sooner."

"It's hardly an issue." Elizabeta laughs at him, knocks her shoulder against his playfully and smiles at him. "So what, you like boys. Oh no, how will I cope?"

Roderich frowns at her, and she meets his stare for a moment before she laughs.

"So, come on. Tell me about these boys, then."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like now is an appropriate time to point out I know nothing about physics past Year 11 curriculum and the odd bit of AS Level stuff, so I apologise for any inaccuracies.

"I fail to see why I have to be involved in this." Vash complains loudly from where he's leaning against the  _Arrivals_ board in the central terminal of the airport.

"Because they're your friends too." Francis replies quickly, scanning the board behind the twenty year old and looking for the flights they're waiting for.

"I'd like to remind you of the fact that I can't stand Gilbert." Vash replies with a frown, opening the messenger bag over his shoulder and dragging out one of his thick Physics textbooks. "Now do you mind if I do the required reading on string theory?"

"Go ahead." Francis raises his eyebrows. "It sounds fascinating, I'm sure. But Antonio's due to be here in a few minutes."

"Oh, wonderful." Vash snips back, thumbing through the pages until he finds the right chapter. "Just what I needed; a perpetually cheery Spaniard. Great."

"You like him really."

"I suppose someone has to."

Francis laughs, turns to look at Vash, who has since settled himself into one of the moulded plastic seats and is reading from a thick and dull-looking tome with tiny print.  _Theoretical Physics_ is written in big, embossed letters on the front.

"Oh, by the way, you do know I leave for Massachusetts tomorrow, right?" Vash asks without looking up from his book.

"Yes, you told me. Several times." Francis laughs quietly and moves to take a seat next to him. Except he doesn't actually make it to sitting down, because he gets halfway when a pair of tanned arms suddenly wrap themselves around his waist.

"Francis!" Antonio's voice echoes loud across the terminal floor, and Vash drops his head into his hands in despair.

"Hey, Antonio!" Francis replies, turning around to embrace him. Vash spots the three people standing behind them then, and is about to ask who they are and if he actually knows them when Antonio releases Francis and comes over to him.

"Vash, it's been too long! How are things?" He grabs Vash from his seat and hugs him, and Vash awkwardly taps him on the back in an attempt to get him to let go and leave him alone.

"They're good, I suppose. Been better."

"You'll have to tell me all about it!" He announces, letting go and holding Vash at arm's length to survey him. The blonde frowns at him until he finally lets go of him.

"Now, I must introduce you to my friends." He turns around to the other three men who are staring at them with a variety of expressions, from sheer confusion to a look that seems to say  _oh god why do I know you_.

"This is Lovino." Antonio leans to reach for the hand of one of them; a particularly angry looking Italian with an unruly curl of auburn hair sticking up from the middle of his parting. They hold hands for a grand total of about three seconds before Lovino wrenches his hand away from him.

"He's shy." Antonio reasons with an airy laugh, apparently not phased by this reaction. "But I love him."

He leans into Lovino and wraps an arm lazily around his waist, presses a kiss against the side of his head. Lovino just glares at him and pushes him off.

"And this is his brother, Feliciano." A much cheerier boy who looks a lot like Lovino waves exuberantly at them, one hand still holding on to the hand of the surly blonde next to him. "And his boyfriend, Ludwig. He's Gilbert's brother."

The blonde raises a hand absently but stays silent, surveying Vash and Francis with steely blue eyes.

Antonio is about to launch into a rousing story about life in Las Vegas –apparently there was this one time with a stripper outside the photographer's studio that just  _would not_ move away- when Roderich and Elizabeta come barrelling up next to them.

"Did we miss anyone?" Roderich asks, looking at the group of them. Vash rolls his eyes.

"No. Antonio's just got here. We're still waiting on Gilbert." Francis replies, moving to stand next to Vash as they watch Elizabeta look over Antonio a few times. The Spaniard doesn't seem to care, if he even notices at all, and hugs Roderich. He's just going through the introductions again for their benefit when a silver-haired blur comes into view and practically jumps on Ludwig.

Ludwig groans audibly and turns to try and dislodge Gilbert from his shoulders, and eventually succeeds and narrows his eyes at him. Gilbert is already distracted, however, and comes running towards Vash and Francis.

"Francis!" He yells, dragging out the 's' sound and scooping Francis up, spinning him around like it's some kind of Hollywood romance movie reunion.

"Er, Gil, don't you think..." A tiny blonde man appears in the background, but no one seems to acknowledge or even notice him. He trails off his sentence and hangs his head. Vash spots him then, as he lifts his head up and straightens his glasses. Vash gestures for him to come over, and by the time he's standing in front of him, Gilbert has finally released Francis.

"Oh, everyone!" Gilbert practically shouts, throwing an arm carelessly around the other guy's shoulders. "This is my boyfriend, Matthew. Isn't he cute?"

Matthew winces and holds out a hand to Vash. The other blonde looks at him before he shakes his hand.

"Um, I think you might know my twin brother? His name's Alfred, he-" He stops himself when he notices Francis visibly tense up, eyebrows furrowed.

"Wait, Alfred? Didn't Heracles say Alfred was the one who-" Vash starts, but Francis nods curtly and cuts him off.

"Yes. Yes he is."

"Is there something I should know?" Matthew asks, confused. "I swear to god, if my stupid brother's done something terrible again, then I am  _so_ sorry. Did he break anything? I'll pay for it to be fixed, god he's such a klutz!"

"It's nothing." Francis replies brusquely, moving past him to go and talk to Antonio, who appears to be regaling Gilbert with stories of his antics in the modelling industry.

"Is he alright?" Matthew asks, watching as Francis leaves.

"He'll be fine." Vash replies quickly, carding his fingers through his hair and straightening it out. "Your brother is kind of an ass, though. No offense."

"None taken." Matthew replies with a small nod. "I know he's an ass; I grew up with him. He was probably an ass when he was in the womb, to be honest."

"I'd say that's entirely plausible." Vash agrees with a small smile. "Well, it was nice meeting you, but I should probably go. I'm flying to the east coast tomorrow, so I should probably go and sleep."

"Nice to meet you, too. I'll see you around." Matthew says with a small smile. Vash nods and moves over to Francis.

"I'm going home to finish packing for tomorrow. Are you staying or do you want a ride?"

"I'll stay. I can get a cab." Francis replies quickly. Vash nods.

"Look, don't do anything stupid, alright? Don't sleep with someone you shouldn't. I don't want to hear it."

"Now, why would I do something like that?" Francis smirks, and Vash frowns at him. Francis laughs at him. "I won't. You get home and sleep, you'll need it. I'll see you later."

Two days later, when Vash is holed up in a hotel room in the middle of Cambridge, Massachusetts, he gets a quick text from Francis.

_Have you heard?_

He frowns, but thinks nothing of it and doesn't reply. He throws his cell phone down on to the hard hotel mattress and carries on working.

"Hey, does this look right to you?" His temporary roommate and supposed friend Toma asks him, holding out his notes. He reads over them a few times, trying to decipher the scrawl before he nods.

"Yeah, those look okay." Vash is just about to tell him that he needs to graph out the last question when his cell phone vibrates again. "Hold on."

He glances at it and discovers that Roderich is, for some reason, calling him. He throws his own working at Toma and tells him to copy it, before he grabs his cell phone and heads into the bathroom.

"Whatever you want, it had better be good. It's eleven and I'm trying to do something productive." Vash snaps as soon as he answers.

"Well, hello to you too, Vash." Roderich laughs down the phone line and Vash narrows his eyes at himself in the mirror. "I just called to tell you something."

"So tell me so that I can go and get on, if you don't mind." Vash leans against the bathroom wall and absently counts the tiles on the opposite wall while Roderich waits to talk.

"Now, now. Patience is a virtue." Roderich teases, and Vash groans at him. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm getting married."

"You're what?" Vash exclaims, suddenly bolting upright and staring wide-eyed at the wall. "Did you say-"

"I'm getting married!" Roderich says, louder this time, and he sounds so unashamedly happy that Vash almost can't bring himself to be sad.  _Almost_.

"I took Liz out to dinner and asked her over dessert. She said yes! Can you believe it? I'm getting married!"

"So you've said." Vash says, pinching the bridge of his nose with thin, shaking fingers. "I'm happy for you. Really."

"You don't sound it. Are you alright?" Roderich muses, and Vash can almost imagine his face –head cocked slightly sideways, eyebrows just knitting together and his eyes confused and probably a little bit hurt.

"I'm fine. Congratulations."

"Will you be my best man?" Roderich asks after Vash stays silent for a minute or two. "You are my best friend, after all. You'll get to embarrass me with a speech on the day, you know."

"Sure, I'll be your best man. I will be bringing up that awful haircut you had when we were ten, though. Don't think I won't."

"I didn't expect anything less from you, to be honest." Roderich laughs almost girlishly, voice crackling over the poor connection. "Quite frankly, I'd have been disappointed."

"Oh, don't worry. It will be the most humiliating thing ever to happen to you, I want you to know." Vash half-laughs, harsher than usual as his voice almost cracks. "You will never live it down. Never."

"Thanks." Vash can hear the smirk in Roderich's voice even though he can't see him, and it makes him smile despite everything. "I suppose you want to get back to your precious physics stuff now, right?"

"Yes, I think I'd better. I think they want to look at it tomorrow. I'm glad I didn't come to MIT in the end, you know. They work you like dogs, it's insane."

"Well, enjoy. I hope it's as fun as it sounds. I'll see you when you get home."

"Yeah. Look after yourself, I'll see you soon."

The line goes dead and Vash exhales shakily, closing his eyes and resting against the wall behind him. He stands in silence for a moment before he fumbles with his phone to call Francis.

"Ah, bonjour, mon petit Suisse." Francis says as soon as he picks up the phone.

"I've told you, don't call me that. I am not  _your_ anything." Vash snaps immediately. "And you didn't think to tell me he'd gotten  _engaged_? You didn't think that was worth mentioning?"

"I'm sorry! I thought he'd have told you first, that's why I asked. Are you okay?"

"I'm great. Peachy, if you will." Vash replies, voice cold and almost monotone. " _Really_? You're asking me that? How do you  _think_ I am, you ass?"

"I'm sorry." Francis is quiet now, and sounds at least genuinely remorseful. "I know it must be hard."

"Correct. It fucking sucks." Vash huffs, and his voice is starting to sound watery and he hates it because he knows Francis will pick up on it.

"Are you crying?" Francis presses, voice quieter still and sounding legitimately concerned. "It'll be alright, Vash. I know it's hard now, but-"

"I'm not crying!" Vash shouts, louder and crueller than he means to. "I just feel like I want to."

"It'll be okay. It might not look like it, but it will. I promise."

Vash groans to himself, sniffles miserably, and he sighs, breathing shakily as he drops his head back against the wall behind him.

"I'm not sure how I'm supposed to look at him." Vash admits quietly a few moments later. "I said I'd be his best man, too. Was that stupid?"

"A little." Francis agrees. "But you're his best friend above all else, aren't you? I just hope you're a good actor."

"Thanks." Vash deadpans. "But you're right, I think. I should value his friendship over the fact that I love him, right? Whether he's getting married to someone else or not."

"Yes." Francis agrees quietly, as if he's going through some kind of revelation of his own. "Yes, you should. I think you should talk to your sister, too, if you have chance. See her, if you have the time. I know she's only fourteen, but she's also a girl. She's probably good with these things."

"I'll see if I can see her. Thanks, Francis." Vash says after a long exhale. "I do appreciate it. I'll see you in a few days."

"I know. It'll be okay. Give Lilli my regards if you manage to contact her. Bonsoir." Francis finishes.

"I will. Goodnight."

This, Vash figures, is probably how he ends up sitting on his own in a tiny little cafe around the corner from his childhood home. He's about to text Lilli to ask where she is when she appears around the corner, grinning and dragging someone behind her. She hasn't changed much since Vash left for college, except she's maybe a little taller and somehow even more exuberant.

Vash hugs her tight when she runs up to him and he smiles at her, properly smiles, for the first time in weeks.

"You've cut your hair." He comments as she sits opposite him. The boy with her fumbles awkwardly. "It kind of looks like mine."

He leans over the table to flatten down the sides of her unruly, wavy blonde bob.

"Do you like it?" She smiles. "I was sick of the plaits. They were getting too long."

"It looks good." Vash admits with a small nod. He gestures at the boy next to her. "Now, who's this?"

"Oh, this is Erik. He's my best friend." She grins, elbowing the boy next to her. He doesn't look too pleased to be here, Vash notes, and watches as the kid carefully examines the puffin embroidered onto his letterman jacket. "He's on the school basketball team."

"Uh-huh." Vash replies, clearly dubious as the boy finally looks up at him. He looks like he's scared, or at least very nervous.

"Now, what happened with Roderich again?" She asks, straightening the blue ribbon in her hair –Vash had bought her it for her tenth birthday. "You sounded pretty upset on the phone last night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More clarifications: Toma = Croatia, and if it wasn't obvious, Erik = Iceland.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tipsy!Vash is best Vash. that is all.

"I still can't believe you agreed to be his best man." Francis says as he watches Vash, hunched over his laptop and furiously typing. He's been back in Seattle for a few days now, and Francis has been relentlessly bullying him over the fact that he actually agreed to do it. He had forgotten at the time that this also mean planning his bachelor party.

"If you make that redundant statement one more time, I will make sure that you regret ever saying it in the first place." Vash snipes from behind his laptop screen. Francis looks taken aback for a second and takes another long drink of his herbal tea.

"Now, now. I know you're stressed, but must you take it out on me?"

"Yes. Now sit down, shut up and help me work out what the hell you're supposed to do for your best friend's bachelor party."

"I think strippers are a given." Francis comments as he settles in to the sofa beside his roommate.

"Really? Vile." Vash frowns, a look of disgust clearly painted on to his features. "I'm not sure that's really Roderich's  _thing_ , are you? And I'm not sure Elizabeta would appreciate it either, she does seem like the jealous type."

Vash thinks for a second and scrolls further down the list of search results.

"I don't think it matters. You should probably talk to him, though. Maybe see what he has in mind and build on it from there. I'm not sure he'll want to spend that much money, considering how much the wedding will likely cost him."

"Hm." Vash pauses in his relentless scrolling and looks across at him. "Maybe we should just rent a room in one of the bars, or something. That shouldn't be too hard."

"That's actually an okay idea, for you."

"Shut up, you ass. My ideas are usually pretty good, and you know it. That's why I'm not as poor as you are, at least. I don't buy stupid things, either –like that toaster you bought last month just because it was made entirely of glass when you already had a perfectly good one at home."

"Please. The real reason you're not poor is because your parents are bankers and because you work at Starbucks. And that toaster is a genius piece of kitchenware and you know it."

"Yes, my ability to pour coffee for barrages of irritating art school hipsters has everything to do with my wealth." Vash rolls his eyes. "I work part time, unless you'd forgotten. And you're a freaking pastry chef; you earn way more than I do."

"Yes, but I actually  _spend_ money. On things that aren't essentials, before you say it. When was the last time you bought something because you wanted it and didn't actually  _need_ it?"

Vash thinks for a while, and Francis takes another long drink from his still-steaming mug. He raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow at the younger man and laughs softly.

"You can't remember, can you?" Vash frowns at this comment, and he almost looks like he's pouting when he turns to Francis.

"Oh my god." Francis laughs loudly then, and drinks the last of his tea in one mouthful. "That's it. You're coming shopping with me. You need new clothes anyway; you must have had those jeans for at least four years. It's not like you've grown much."

"Shut up." Vash replies quickly, closing his laptop with a little too much force and standing up. "Fine. I'll go buy some clothes if it'll keep you quiet."

"Good. It will." Francis smiles smugly and sets his mug down. "I think everyone's planning on going out tonight, too. I assume you'll be accompanying us?"

"I don't get a say in that, do I?"

"Correct. You are coming tonight, but I will make sure that you look fabulous for it, don't worry." Francis smirks at him as he pulls his dark blue jacket over his shoulders.

"Just because you're older than me doesn't mean that you get to boss me around as you please, you know." Vash replies, pulling his green hoodie up his arms and zipping it up carefully. "And for the record, if I didn't already know you were gay, I think that would've given it away. The only person I've ever seen care about fashion that much is Antonio, but he can get away with it because he's a model. You've got no excuse."

Francis rolls his eyes affectionately and grabs him by the wrist, pulling him out of the door and in to the hallway.

They return to the apartment a good four hours or so later, and Vash is carrying three enormous bags filled with clothes he didn't actually need in the first place.

"I thought I just needed new jeans." He comments with a frown in Francis' direction.

"Oh, you're so naive, sweetheart." Francis smiles as he takes off his jacket. "You can't just _buy_ stone washed jeans and expect them to go with everything."

Vash sighs and dumps the bags down in their hallway.

"I'm going to say it again: you are the gayest person I've ever met." He states as he digs in his jacket pocket to find the key to lock the door.

"Is that supposed to be an insult?" Francis laughs, giggly and careless as he moves in to the kitchen. "Now, go and make yourself look fabulous while I make some tea."

Vash frowns after him, and Francis leans back out of the kitchen a few minutes later to stare back at him.

"Don't make me force you." He says, attempting to be stern. Vash stares at him incredulously. "Go.  _Now_."

Vash's stare turns into an honest-to-god glare and he scoops up the bags from the floor and he huffs his way up the stairs.

"Wise decision." Francis shouts up at him from the bottom stair. "We're going out in two hours."

And so, two hours later, Vash finds himself standing in their hallway in red chinos that he doesn't even  _like_ , with a too-low white v-neck and a grey blazer that's just a  _tiny_ bit too snug around his shoulders.

"I feel like Antonio." He complains loudly as Francis reappears from the bathroom with hairspray and gel and sets about his hair. He doesn't do much with it, really; he smoothes the gel on his hands and pushes his fingers through Vash's hair.

"Are you quite finished?" Vash grumbles as Francis flattens down his bangs and pushes them slightly to one side.

"Yes." Francis steps back and looks at him from a distance. "Perfect. Now if only you'd frown a little less, you'd look much better."

"Shut up." Vash replies, glaring at him and shaking his head slightly to disturb his bangs. "Shouldn't we be leaving now?"

"Yes, we should." Francis agrees, pushing him out of the door and down the stairs to the foyer. "Antonio and Gilbert are probably already there with Lovino and Matthew, and I think Heracles and Kiku are planning on coming along, too."

By the time they arrive, Gilbert is already roaring drunk, sprawled all over one of the tables and loudly singing  _Don't You Want Me Baby_  to Matthew whenever he sees him. The blonde is clearly incredibly embarrassed by the whole situation and turns back to the bar and his conversation with his brother.

Heracles spots them then, from where he's leaning against the bar lazily, with one arm around Kiku's back and the other loosely holding a bottle of beer. Part of Vash actually dreads talking to him, because he's so relaxed that he talks at the speed of snail and practically everything he says is either related to his relationship with Kiku or the museum, neither of which he can really bring himself to care about.

Heracles is an exhibition designer at the museum where Arthur works, and so Vash only sort-of knows him, only sees him for get-togethers and other events he usually tries to avoid. He's a nice guy, though, even if his obsession with Ancient Greek history is a little strange (even though Vash thinks that interest probably has something to do with the fact that he  _is_ Greek) and his relationship with Kiku is sickeningly cute most of the time. Kiku himself is a kendo instructor at one of the martial arts centres downtown; he's tiny and fastidiously polite but is apparently incredibly fierce when he's annoyed –or at least, according to Heracles.

"How are you two?" Heracles asks, voice as quiet and soft-spoken as ever, a languid smile on his face.

"I'm good." Vash answers as Francis wanders off to buy drinks. "I don't know if Francis can say the same, though."

"How's he coping?" Kiku inquires, taking a long sip from his drink. "Heracles told me what happened."

"He's doing okay, I think." Vash turns to look at him as he talks. "He's been better, obviously, but he's better than I thought he'd be, in any case. He's crying less, too."

"I still can't believe Arthur would do that." Kiku admits, looking sideways down the bar at the Englishman, who is sitting on a barstool and talking absently to Elizabeta and Roderich.

"I don't think he's a bad person." Heracles says with a shrug. "I think he was just confused."

" _How_ is he not a bad person?" Vash asks incredulously. Even Kiku is staring at Heracles like he's confused. "He was with Francis for nearly five years and he just up and leaves him for some loudmouth, idiotic American!"

"I'm just saying." Heracles reasons with another shrug of his shoulders. "Maybe it felt right for him to leave."

"That's not an excuse." Vash retorts, and he folds his arms as if to signal the conversation is over when he sees Francis heading towards them with a large glass of red wine in one hand and what Vash assumes is the Jack Daniels and cola he usually orders –or rather, makes Francis order since he  _might_ be a little too young to legally drink, but the bar staff don't need to know that.

"Here you go." Francis announces, thrusting his drink towards him. "Bottoms up."

He raises his wine glass to his mouth and drinks half of the contents in one mouthful –which even Heracles must find out of character if the expression on his face and his wide green eyes are anything to go by.

"Don't drink too much, alright?" Vash instructs him with a firm pat on the arm. "I am not dragging your sorry ass home if you get too drunk to even stand up properly. I  _will_ let you pass out on the street."

"You're such a good friend." Francis raises an eyebrow at him and rolls his eyes mockingly. "I really enjoy your friendship, Vash dearest."

"Stop talking. I'm not sorry, though; if you throw up on me one more time in a drunken stupor then forget about it in the morning when I throw a gross shirt at you then I  _will_ make sure you never sleep easy again."

"Now, now." Francis laughs playfully and takes another sip of his wine.

The door slams open and Antonio appears, Lovino on his arm and Feliciano and Ludwig trailing behind them dejectedly.

"Hola!" The Spaniard drawls, and Vash drops his head into his free hand and groans inwardly to himself. Kiku laughs at him and wraps his hand around Heracles' bicep almost protectively. Heracles smiles at him and kisses the side of his head gently.

Vash watches as Lovino pulls away from Antonio and gravitates towards the bar, apparently as desperately in need of alcohol as Vash is. The blonde drinks a mouthful of his cola and turns back to the other three. Antonio is already swaying absently to the music as Francis talks at him animatedly about something, and Feliciano looks a little lost until Ludwig spots his drunken brother and drags him over to help try and sober him up. Matthew sends them both a silent look of thanks.

Roderich wanders over about fifteen minutes later with a vodka and cola in his hand, and Vash laughs at him and elbows him jokily.

"Nice woman drink, Edelstein." He smirks up at his best friend, and Roderich almost narrows his eyes at him, but instead straightens his glasses and exhales a little harder than usual.

"Shut up, you're short."

"That isn't a valid comeback, asshole. You've been using it since we were about fourteen; I think it loses its sting after six years." Vash retorts with a small smirk tugging up one corner of his mouth. Roderich huffs in response, leaning a little closer to him as Alfred moves past them to talk to Arthur.

"How's living with Francis, anyway?" Roderich asks, pressing even closer when Feliciano shoehorns himself into the tiny gap next to his brother. Vash's heart inadvertently beats a little bit faster.

"It's alright. He's making me go furniture shopping with him sometime soon, I think. Should be interesting. Apparently he's not pleased because Arthur ended up keeping the 'good' furniture. I can only assume he means a set of dining chairs that have all their legs intact."

"Oh, have fun." Roderich laughs openly this time, and Vash can almost smell the alcohol on his breath as he leans forward to regain his balance. "There's nothing more entertaining than endlessly searching through catalogues for the perfect rug to go with the print of the sofas, or the end table that matches the kitchen cabinets  _exactly_."

"I take it living with Elizabeta is as exciting as you imagined?" Vash laughs, snickering into his glass as he takes a drink.

"Don't get me wrong, it's great, but I just wish she didn't have this weird obsession with the place being pristinely  _clean_ at all times. If I get up after her and don't make the bed she yells at me." Roderich explains, exasperated, gesturing with his free hand. "I mean, I love her and all but that doesn't mean she isn't an annoying roommate."

"Sounds awesome." Vash says quietly into his drink; more to himself than to Roderich, if he's being honest, but the taller man clearly still hears him and frowns at him nonetheless.

"Are you alright? With the whole thing?" Roderich asks, clearly concerned as he cocks his head slightly, out of habit. "You know you didn't have to move out, right? It's a two bedroom apartment."

"I know. But I'm pretty sure that I'd overhear far more than I ever wanted to if I stayed." Vash admits with a grimace on his face. Roderich's cheeks redden slightly, and he stares at Vash with wide eyes.

"You didn't actually ever  _hear_ anything when she was over, did you?" He asks jerkily, wincing a little as he talks. Vash laughs inwardly and takes a quick drink.

"Only one time, I think. It was just before I moved out." Vash admits with a wry smirk playing on his features. Roderich stares at him. "Does  _'oh, Roderich, harder'_ mean anything to you?"

He leans in even closer to fake a moan in Roderich's ear, and Roderich's cheeks turn a fantastic bright shade of pink and he realizes that his best friend is actually getting a little tipsy already. He sets his glass down on the bar and grabs him by the hips to push him a little further away.

They stare at each other for a few moments before they both talk at the same time.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for Alfred.   
> And grumpy, self-pitying!Vash.

Alfred watches the two of them from a few feet away and squints through his glasses at them both. Their hands are firmly at the other's hips, and they're pressed closer than they probably should be, each staring blankly at the other.

"Hey, are you two okay?" He asks as he moves towards them. Both of them suddenly start and whip their heads around to stare at him. They stumble apart quickly.

"We're fine." They say in unison. He notices the blonde one looking him up and down a few times as if he knows him from somewhere.

"Do I know you?" He asks both of them. The brunette shakes his head first, then the blonde follows suit about half a minute later.

"Well, I'm Alfred F. Jones." He grins at the two of them, extending his hand in greeting."The F stands for Fairfax."

"I'm Roderich Edelstein." The brunette shakes his hand almost warily, and pushes his bangs back out of his face. "I'm a music major at the local college."

"Oh, I graduated from there last year!" Alfred exclaims, letting go of Roderich's hand to gesticulate. "I was an English Language major. Apparently there aren't many jobs for languages unless you want to teach, and I really suck at teaching."

He laughs brashly for a second before he remembers that he'd forgotten the other guy. He holds out his hand again.

"I didn't catch your name, sorry." He laughs again and runs his fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck.

"Er, Vash. Vash Zwingli. Physics student and sarcastic bastard at your service." The small blonde shakes his hand loosely and quickly, before he lets go and quickly takes another drink.

"Wait, I know that name. Aren't you friends with Francis?"

"Yes, I am, whatever it is to you." Vash says through gritted teeth, narrowing his eyes at the obnoxiously cheery man opposite him.

"Well, I was just wondering if he was doing okay, I mean-" Alfred starts, but is suddenly cut off by the sound of Francis screaming at someone.

"Why did you do it? That's all I want to know! Why won't you just tell me?" The accent is unmistakably Francis' and he's obviously drunk a little too much because he sounds more French than usual, even for him.

"Why did I do  _what_?" Arthur retorts, even louder than Francis. His jaw is clenched when he comes marching back into view, the Frenchman following behind him.

"You  _know_ what, you son of a bitch!"

"Why would I ask if I knew, you  _moron_. Jesus Christ!"

They're standing in the middle of the room by now and everyone –even the bartenders- are transfixed.

"Oh my god, why do you always have to be such an asshole?" Francis snaps, turning on his heel and glaring at Arthur. "Would it kill you to be nice and civil for once? I don't care if you think I'm being stupid. Just this once, could you at least  _try_ and be normal?"

" _I'm_ abnormal?" Arthur retorts, and if he wasn't furious before then he sure as hell is now. "You make me sick with your constant bitching and moaning –you aren't the only one with problems around here, you know? Everyone else manages to cope, so get over yourself!"

"You're such a dick!"

"Freak!"

"Will you two just have loud make-up sex already?" Vash takes advantage of the moment of quiet to shout at the pair of them. "Jesus Christ."

Neither of them look at him, and they both keep staring each other down until Francis finally cracks.

"Vash was right about you." He says quietly, voice watery and blue eyes shining with tears. "You don't care, and I don't think you ever did."

And with that, he wheels around and marches out of the door, quiet, barely audible sobs following him. Arthur stares almost desperately after him, and when no one moves and everyone stays silent, Vash sighs loudly.

"Don't worry, everyone." He announces, his voice bitter and almost angry. "I've got this."

He follows Francis and slams the door after him to prove a point.

"I thought he said Francis was okay." Heracles murmurs into Kiku's hair, but everyone hears him anyway.

"Maybe he's not as okay as he acted." Kiku reasons, voice even quieter than Heracles'. Arthur hears him, too, and looks down at his shoes and lets his shoulders drop. Alfred watches him, eyebrows furrowed in concern as he moves over to him. Arthur looks up at him through his bangs, green eyes wet with tears. Alfred looks him in the eyes for a long moment and hugs him tight, pulling back for a few seconds to press a kiss to his lips. Roderich stares at the two of them, and there's a beat of silence before Antonio curses loudly in Spanish and marches out of the bar.

He finds Francis leaning against the outside wall of the bar, the odd tear sliding down his cheeks as Vash grips him by the shoulders and tries to pep talk him.

"He's not worth you crying, Francis! You know that much."

"But I love him!" Francis responds indignantly, staring back at him.

"But he doesn't love you! At least, not as much as you want him to." Even for Vash, it's harsh, and Francis flinches into himself and starts crying again. "I'm sorry, Francis. I know it's hard, believe me."

Vash releases his shoulders and looks at him for a long moment, as if to see if he's still crying.

"It's not fair." Francis mumbles, looking down at his feet. Antonio frowns at takes a step forward. "I don't understand. We were together for five years, he was supposed to  _love_ me and he has someone else already? It hasn't even been three weeks! I just..."

He trails off and starts crying again, and Antonio steps in to wrap an arm around his back and prop him up so he can stand on his own.

"I just miss him, that's all." Francis admits quietly, still focussed on the sidewalk slabs beneath his feet. Vash looks desperately from Francis to Antonio, and all the Spaniard can do is shrug and mouth  _your guess is as good as mine_.

"I know you do. And yeah, things are probably going to suck for a while, but I know you. You're stronger than that and you're sure as hell better than  _him_ , alright? You don't need him. Now come here." Vash hugs him awkwardly, arms tight around his ribs, and Francis half-heartedly hugs him back, a half-smile creeping on to his features.

"Now, you are going back in there with your head held high and you're going to show him that you don't need him; you're the better person, remember?" Vash instructs. Francis nods, and Antonio smiles at the both of them.

"Hey, if it's any consolation to you, amigo, he seems like a choice asshole." Antonio comments with a shrug, accent thicker after a few drinks. Francis laughs wetly and hugs him loosely around the neck, smiling into his hair.

"Thanks, guys." Francis says, releasing Antonio and standing up straight. "I think I needed that."

"Glad you're okay. Or at least getting there." Vash responds with a small smile and pushes him towards the door. "Now go. Be fabulous or whatever."

Francis laughs loosely and opens the door, and Vash is about to follow him when Antonio taps him on the shoulder.

"Vash, can I talk to you for a second? I think I know something important."

"Mm?" Vash replies, turning back to face the other man and raising an eyebrow.

"I overheard Alfred and Matthew talking earlier, and I think Arthur asked Alfred to move in with him earlier today."

"What?" Vash asks incredulously, staring at the slightly taller man in disbelief. "That's insane; Francis has barely finished moving out. Are you sure you didn't mishear them or something? Even Arthur isn't that much of an ass, surely."

"I didn't think he was either, but apparently he is." Antonio shrugs, pushing his fingers through his curly, dark brown bangs in an effort to keep them away from his face.

"He annoys me just by breathing, I swear to god." Vash sighs, pulling his blazer over his chest as the wind whips his hair around his face. "If he says a word, I might actually hit him."

He turns back to go inside, and Antonio follows behind.

"Hey, you just told Francis not to do anything stupid, don't you get any ideas." Antonio laughs as he holds the door open for him. Vash rolls his eyes and scans the bar in search of Francis. Apparently everyone has returned to their conversations, and Francis has struck one up with Gilbert and Matthew, so it seems.

"Can I ask you something?" Antonio asks as they settle themselves in barstools and order a drink each.

"Shoot."

"What did you mean, when you told Francis you knew how he felt? I thought you were single."

"I am." Vash explains with a frown, taking a quick drink when the bartender deposits a glass in front of him. "Doesn't mean I don't understand how he feels."

"You like someone, then?"

"I suppose." Vash says with a shrug, taking another drink.

"Who is it?"

"I'm not telling you that!" Vash retorts indignantly, staring at him as Antonio looks him up and down carefully.

"Seriously? You can't just tell me you're interested in someone and then not tell me who it is!" The Spaniard whines, spinning his own glass around on the counter a few times.

"I can and I will. I don't have to tell you anything." Vash huffs, folding his arms to prove a point.

"But Francis knows?"

"Of  _course_ Francis knows, you idiot. I live with him. And besides, if I didn't tell him, he'd have weaselled it out of me in that irritating way he always does."

"He just knows you well, that's all." Antonio laughs. "Why won't you just tell me? It can't be that embarrassing."

"How many years have you known me?" Vash asks, out of the blue as he takes another long drink.

"Um, about six or seven years, why?"

"Eh, that's long enough." Vash shrugs, drinking what is left in his glass in one mouthful. "You should be able to work it out yourself, though."

"Really? Is it that obvious?" Antonio seems shocked as he looks Vash up and down again.

"Francis said it was." He shrugs and orders another drink.

"Do I actually know them?"

"Yes." Vash replies with a pointed nod. "Quite well, actually."

Antonio frowns at him for a moment before he scans the room, mentally ticking and crossing any suggestions his brain throws at him. He stops when he sees Roderich, arm around Elizabeta's waist and laughing as he talks with Ludwig and Feliciano. He hesitates for a second before looking back at Vash, who is watching him with an almost wistful expression in his eyes.

"Oh my god." He states, louder than he means to. Vash starts and narrows his eyes at him.

"What?"

"I think I know who it is." Antonio smirks and swirls his drink around in his glass for a second before he drinks what's left.

"Really?" Vash stares at him with one eyebrow raised, clearly cynical of his deduction skills. "Go on then. Regale me with your genius suggestion."

"It's Roderich."

Vash splutters and gapes at him in disbelief, completely lost for words as he fumbles hopelessly.

"But how did you-"

"Francis was right." Antonio shrugs, ordering himself another drink while Vash continues to scowl at him. "It's obvious. Even more now that I'm certain."

"But I'm trying to be subtle." Vash complains, grumbling at the Spaniard like it will change anything.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I don't think Roderich's noticed, at least."

"Yeah, that makes me feel great. Thanks a lot, Antonio." Vash snipes sarcastically, downing most of his drink in one go. "I appreciate your support, truly I do."

"Hey, you're welcome." Antonio rolls his eyes at him and takes another drink. "If it bothers you that much then why don't you say something?"

"It's a bit late for that, don't you think?" Vash sighs as if he's already sick of talking about the subject. "Didn't you hear? He asked his girlfriend to marry him. She said yes. Everything's sunshine and daisies, apparently."

He slumps back in his chair and exhales heavily, closing his eyes for a few seconds and pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to calm himself down.

"So you're jealous, is that it?" Antonio turns in his chair to face the blonde, who is looking at him like he's half expecting him to swoop in and save the day or something.

"I don't even think it's just that, you know? I just don't get how it's fair that practically everyone else got a chance but me." Vash deflates noticeably, and Antonio pats him on the back a few times.

"Just answer me this, Vash." Antonio asks, and the blonde looks across at him through the stray hairs of his bangs that have fallen into his eyes.

"What?"

"Did you ever show interest in him? As in, an interest that would've made him think that you wanted more from your friendship? Did you ever go out, just you and him?"

"Sure, we did that a lot, we lived together for two years too, but I never thought he wouldn't get the hint. I always figured he'd think I was joking or being stupid or was just plain weird or something." Vash sighs, and his shoulders drop again. "Oh my god, I'm a fucking idiot, aren't I?"

Antonio looks at him with a pained expression for a long few minutes before his bottom lip quivers slightly and he drops his head on to the bar.

"Why? Why didn't I just  _say something_? Oh my god..." He trails off into rambling as he grumbles to himself, forehead flat against the wood of the bar, blonde hair splaying out in a circle and hiding his face.

"Er, Antonio?" an Italian accented voice comes from over his shoulder; he already knows it's Feliciano before he turns around.

"Oh, hey, Feli. What's wrong?"

The other man hesitates for a few seconds, glancing between Antonio and Vash's slumped, cursing form, before he gestures at the blonde.

"Um, is he okay?" He sounds genuinely concerned as he surveys Vash, who has taken to periodically smacking his head against the bar and mumbling 'stupid' under his breath.

"Oh, he'll be fine." Antonio waves his hand carelessly. "He's just upset with himself because he thinks he lost his chance with someone he likes."

"Oh, I could help!" Feliciano grins then, bouncing on his feet as he looks at Antonio. "What did he do?"

Antonio laughs at him and pats Vash on the back again.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by philosophical Antonio and tipsy, emotional Vash. you're welcome.

After Vash has repeated himself again for Feliciano's sake –and this time he tells the full story, supposedly 'gory' details included- the Italian is sitting on his other side and thinking to himself.

"You know, I think I have an idea." He announces after ten minutes of complete silence from all three of them. Vash turns to look at him, his head still resting on the bar.

"Go on, then."

"Well, he doesn't know how you feel, right?" He reasons, playing with his hair absently. "So it's not like he rejected you or anything. It could be worse."

"How?" Vash asks desperately, his bottom lip almost jutting out into a pout. "How could it be worse? I never stood a chance with him."

"Hey, no offence," Antonio starts, slapping a hand down on his back, "but man up, dude."

"Shut up." Vash mumbles into the wood, turning his head away from him.

"I'm just saying." Antonio shrugs, turning on his stool to survey the wreckage left in the bar.

Gilbert is asleep in one of the booths, head hanging over the edge of the cushion and feet kicked up near the window. Matthew is watching him, clearly sober and despairing as he nudges at him with his foot. Kiku and Heracles took their leave not too long ago, because apparently if they didn't get to feeding their cats soon their sofa would be paying the price. Roderich and Elizabeta are just leaving, apparently, because Roderich waves loosely at him as he helps Elizabeta pull her coat on. Alfred is talking in a corner with Ludwig, who looks more than a little disinterested, and Francis and Lovino appear to be sitting together and arguing about whether Frenchmen or Italians are better lovers. Antonio rolls his eyes and turns back to Feliciano and Vash, the latter of which has resumed banging his head against the wood and murmuring ' _stupid_ ' over and over to himself. Feliciano still looks particularly worried about this development, if the ' _um, Vash, do you really need to do that?_ ' spilling from his mouth every three or four seconds is anything to go by.

Vash stops for a second and sits up properly, looking a little dazed and more than a little drunk. His hair is a complete mess, falling erratically around his face as he moves and attempts to make it look at least a bit more presentable.

"I just don't get it, you know?" He frowns at the bottles behind the bar as if he's contemplating which would get him royally shitfaced the fastest. "I don't understand him."

"What do you mean?" Feliciano asks, turning his head quickly to look at him.

"I mean, how did he  _not_ notice? The only way I could have been more obvious was if I said it straight out. That might have worked, actually." Vash sighs, slumping in his seat again. "It's not like he'd have been disgusted or anything, I already knew he liked guys and I'm pretty sure I didn't need to explicitly state ' _oh by the way I like cock_ ' for him to have worked it out about me. Why didn't I just  _say_ something, for god's sake?"

He groans, leans forward in his seat and presses his hands over his eyes. He shakes his head, mouth turning downwards as he curses himself under his breath.

"Hey, stop it." Antonio says, pressing a hand to his shoulder. "What happened or didn't happen in the past is gone, now. There's nothing you can do."

"Wow, you're so comforting and supportive, Antonio." Vash deadpans, not moving to look at him.

"I know, it's harsh and it's not all that nice to have to think that way, but honestly, what else is there you can do but try and forget?"

"I know, I know, I'm being stupid. I've told myself that a thousand times." Vash moves his hands away and looks at Antonio with sad green eyes. "And besides, even if I  _did_ do something, what would actually happen? It's not like he'd just drop Elizabeta for someone like me, is it? Someone who couldn't even find the courage to just say ' _oh by the way, I think I'm in love with you_.'"

"Vash." Feliciano says softly, resting a hand lightly on the other's spine. The blonde turns and stares at him, eyebrows knitting together as he stares at the Italian with wet eyes. "You can't keep hurting yourself over this."

His voice is quiet, and all Antonio can do is watch as Vash's resolve finally snaps, and he closes his eyes and winces desperately to hold back the tears that are threatening.

"I'm sorry; I usually don't let it bother me this much." He admits wetly, sniffling loudly to hold back another few tears. "It's just with the fact that he's getting married soon, and he'll  _finally_ be unattainable and I'll never stand a chance and I'm just his  _stupid_ best friend who was foolish enough to agree to be his best man! Now I have to sing the praises of that _woman_ he's marrying just because she makes him happy when all I want to do is be in her place. It's not fair."

He trails off and stares blankly at the wall opposite him, like he's trying to stop himself from crying. Feliciano looks sad, too, when Antonio looks at him and finds the auburn haired man's eyes are damp.

"I'm sorry." Vash mumbles, wiping at his eyes with the back of his palm. "I'm not normally this emotional over things like this, that's usually Francis' job."

He almost laughs, but he hesitates and straightens his bangs clumsily.

"God, I'm such an idiot." He leans back again, and Antonio wraps an arm around his small shoulders and pulls him into a clumsy hug.

"No, you're not." He says, leaning his head on top of Vash's and letting his own messy brown curls fall into the younger's eyes. "You were scared and kind of clueless and you didn't take a chance on something that worried you. That doesn't make you an idiot. I'd say it makes you human, really."

"That actually makes sense." Vash admits, leaning into Antonio slightly. "And it's weirdly philosophical, for you."

"What can I say?" Antonio giggles girlishly, lifting his head and surveying the blonde for a moment. "Wine makes me sentimental and stupid."

"You don't say." Vash pulls away from him, apparently sobering up a little as he runs his hands over his hair and tries to sort himself out. "But you're always stupid."

"You don't know that! You haven't seen me in two years!" Antonio pouts, and Vash smiles lopsidedly at him, laughing softly. Feliciano looks at the two and them and smiles widely to himself, standing up quietly and wandering off in search of Ludwig. He grabs him by the arm and the blonde looks at him, a small smile working its way across his lips. Feliciano smiles back and him and pushes himself up onto his tiptoes to kiss him.

"So, I'm guessing you don't want to plan his bachelor party on your own, right?" Antonio inquires after about a minute or two of silence. Vash nods.

"Yeah, I don't really. Francis was trying to help earlier but his only suggestion was to hire strippers, and seriously? Fuck that. It's bad enough he's getting married, I don't want to see some whore grinding all over him." His distaste is obvious in the fact that his lips turn down and he wrinkles his nose.

"No, tell me what you really think, Vash." Antonio cracks up, closing his eyes and laughing hard. The blonde scowls at the other man for all of a minute before he starts chuckling to himself. Antonio orders them both drinks.

When their drinks arrive, he takes a few minutes to drink as much of his wine as he can.

"Well, you could always make everyone dress in drag." He suggest with a nonchalant shrug. Vash actually splutters, struggling to stop himself from propelling whiskey and cola all over the cheery bespectacled bartender in front of him.

"Why would you even suggest that?"

"I live in Las Vegas." He deadpans with a small smile on his face. "There are very few things I haven't seen. I think I've seen drunk and badly dressed tourists from practically every country in the world. The Italians are the worst."

"Well, I think I can live without the image of my best friend with a stuffed bra on and wearing a dress, thanks." Vash swallows his drink and quickly drinks more. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Well, I realize it's not to everyone's taste, but I think a nicely cut dress would look good on you!" Antonio responds enthusiastically, setting his drink down to wave his arms exuberantly.

"Shut up before I make you." Vash interrupts him before he can continue, voice low and stern and Antonio actually swallows nervously.

"Okay, so no dresses, then?" Antonio laughs apprehensively, like he's worried he's being serious. But then, he's known Vash for long enough to know that 'threatening and kind of unpleasant' is probably his character type.

"No. No dresses." Vash's expression relaxes and he drinks the last of his glass. "Just imagine what we'd look like. Francis and I were thinking of just booking out a bar somewhere and drinking more than any of us can physically handle."

"Sounds like a good idea." Antonio agrees with a sharp nod, picking up his wine glass by the stem and swirling the dark red contents around. "I'm all for that. Roderich asked me to be his groomsman earlier, too. I said yes, so I'll split the costs with you."

"I meant to ask him about that, actually." Vash suddenly remembers. "I actually have no idea who I'm meant to be controlling on the day."

"Well, he told me he'd asked Francis, Gilbert and Arthur before he spoke to me. I think they all said yes."

"Oh, great. Francis and Arthur in the same room. That can only end in either tears or a murder trial." Vash rolls his eyes and looks and Antonio. "And I have the great and terrible joy of making sure they don't kill each other brutally before the wedding starts. And making sure they don't cause a scene. And if they  _do_ , then I'll be the one that has to clean up after them. How wonderful."

"Maybe they'll have sorted something out by then? Maybe they'll be friends?"

"Please. They can't even sort themselves out, let alone each other."

"Oh, hey, I just remembered something." Antonio suddenly blurts out after he had fallen silent a moment earlier.

"Dare I ask?"

"Well, I was just thinking, and I remembered how I asked Roderich out when we were younger."

"We were fourteen." Vash corrects him quickly.

"It doesn't matter. Well, I just remembered that when I asked him out, I dragged him to a side in one of the school halls and offered to take him out to a movie that night and he said yes, and then when we were in the theatre I held his hand and he kissed me after we left. Then it just happened from there." He smiles wistfully.

"Yeah, that might have worked  _last year_ , when he was single and lonely and wasn't engaged to a girl he's definitely in love with and besides, what would I have done if he'd have said no and laughed it off, or said no straight out. I lived with him then! It would've been weird and if he'd have-" Vash stops himself when Antonio's surly, dark-haired boyfriend appears and slaps him around the head.

"You're a bastard!" Lovino yells, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at the Spaniard.

"Lovi, what's wrong?" Antonio turns to his boyfriend with concerned eyes.

"You! Talking about an ex like that! What are you thinking!" His voice is loud and thickly accented, and he folds his arms angrily across his chest. Vash actually shrinks into himself, because god forbid he piss off this guy –he looks even angrier than he usually is himself.

Antonio fumbles and stutters over his words, wide eyed and apparently terrified.

"I bet you never talk about me like that, do you!" Lovino fumes, and Feliciano reaches desperately for his brother's arm to try and calm him down. "I hate you so much!"

"Lovi, wait-" Antonio starts as the Italian turns on his heel and marches towards the day.

"Don't you dare!" Lovino hisses, pushing the shorter man away from him. "And don't even think about coming back to the hotel tonight! I swear to god I'll slam that door in your stupid face!"

And with that, Lovino turns again, quicker this time and bolts out of the door. Feliciano and Ludwig raise their hand as a goodbye and sprint after him in an effort to stop him.

"Is he always like that?" Vash asks as Antonio wanders sadly back to his seat and sinks down, looking at the floor.

"Usually." He admits quietly. "He calms down quite fast normally, though. That's pretty unlike him."

"He seems delightful." Francis comments sarcastically as he appears from a conversation with Matthew and Gilbert, who are just leaving. He leans on the back of Antonio's chair and rests his head on top of the other's.

"He is; sure, he's grumpy and sometimes gets a little violent, but that doesn't matter." Antonio shrugs, unsettling Francis for a minute as the blonde stumbles. "Because I love him, and I know he loves me too."

"He has a really funny way of showing it." Francis frowns. "But then, I can't talk. Arthur and I were just like that with each other."

His lower lip wavers for a second and Antonio reaches up to pat him on the arm.

"Do you guys mind if I sleep on your sofa? Just until Lovino and I work everything out."

"Go ahead." Vash shrugs, standing up to straighten his pants and rearrange his blazer. "It's a pretty comfortable sofa."

"Thanks." Antonio smiles, and Francis pulls himself up from his friend and flattens his clothes down too. "You guys are great."

He stands up too, drinks the last of his wine and looks between the two of them. Francis grins at him, happy and still a little drunk, and grabs his arm and links them together.

"We know." Vash replies, and Antonio grins at him for a second before taking hold of his arm and linking them together too.

"You guys aren't doing this to me." Vash groans as he finds himself being dragged through the door and on to the street.

"Yes, yes we are." Francis smirks at him and starts skipping.

"Why am I friends with you?"

"Because somewhere in that icy, blackened heart of yours, you love us." Francis reasons, spinning around to lean on Vash.

"Okay, fine. You win."

"I always do."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Backstory time yay.

Vash wakes up late the following morning, stumbles downstairs in gray sweatpants and with messy hair, and opens the door to the sitting room. Antonio is sprawled all over the sofa, feet hanging over the edge of the arm even though he's pretty short. He's snoring, a loud, echoing drawl every few seconds, and Vash shakes his head at him.

"Hey, asshole." He says, leaning over the other man. "Wake up. We're going to be late."

Antonio snuffles and rolls over on to his side, mumbling something about tomatoes. Vash scowls and sighs, moving away and around the side of the couch. He thinks to himself for a second before he decides what to, and kicks the side of the couch hard. Antonio groans and rolls over, pulling the thin quilt over his head. Vash frowns and kicks again, harder, and Antonio wakes with a start, bolting upright and sliding off the couch cushions and on to the floor.

"What?" He groans, voice raspy with sleep, and Vash has to hold back a laugh at the sight of a clumsy, tanned idiot spread-eagled all over the carpet.

"Roderich called. We're meeting him to start arranging things for his bachelor party. Francis and Elizabeta are coming too." Vash explains, fumbling in his pocket for his cell phone. "We're supposed to be at that European coffee shop in about an hour and a half, and I know you; it can take you that long to do your hair."

Antonio laughs and pulls himself to his feet, accidentally knotting his legs into the blanket and falling over. Vash grabs him and helps him up, pulling the cloth away from him.

"Oh, and Lovino came by with your bags earlier. I heard him shouting at Francis when I got up to pee at about nine. Sorry."

"It's fine." Antonio shrugs. "He gets like this a lot. He'll calm down in a few days and he might even apologize."

"He  _might_  apologize?" Vash asks incredulously. "He hit you in the face in a public place. Is that normal?"

"Well, no, not usually, but I know what he's like. He gets defensive and angry sometimes, it's in his nature."

"But I don't  _get_ it, honestly. I mean, Feliciano seems so-"

"Please don't compare him to his brother." Antonio interrupts, fixing Vash with an almost stern look. "I know he's not here to hear you, but people have been comparing him to Feli for his whole life, and he never thinks he's good enough because of it."

"Sorry." Vash says sheepishly, and they stand in awkward silence for a moment or two before Francis comes bustling in with three plates of steaming French toast piled high with fruit and syrup.

"You will literally cook anything with 'French' in the title, won't you?" Vash asks with a roll of his eyes, taking the plate Francis offers him.

"But of course." The other blonde replies, passing Antonio a plate and untying the ribbon holding his hair back with his free hand.

They sit and eat in relative silence, even though Antonio threatens to fall back asleep as soon as he sets his plate on the floor. It takes both of them to bundle him into the bathroom with his bag to make sure that he actually gets dressed some time before Christmas

They stumble up the stairs together then, Vash still a little sleepy and ungainly, so Francis laughs at him and tells him to dress nicely; this is kind of a big thing.

Vash rolls his eyes and closes the door to his room, making a beeline for his wardrobe and digging through to find anything that's even remotely comfortable. He eventually settles on a pair of dark blue skinny jeans –that maybe have a huge, frayed rip in the left knee that Francis is determined to patch- and a thick, green cord sweater that's only  _slightly_  too big for him, cuffs of the sleeves stopping halfway down his palm. He knows Francis will kill him, partly because of his open dislike of green clothing and of that sweater in particular, and because he'll be annoyed that he managed to actually make it look passable.

He tugs on the brown ankle boots Lilli had bought him as a leaving present a few years ago and runs his fingers through his hair, looking quickly in the mirror to make sure that he doesn't look like a total train wreck before he steps outside.

Antonio is still hogging the bathroom when he gets downstairs, but he opens the door when he knocks and finds the Spaniard glaring at his own reflection in the mirror.

"Yes, you're beautiful, now will you move?" Vash sighs, walking in and pushing him slightly to a side so that they can both attempt to use the mirror. "I have things to do here."

Antonio doesn't move, running gel through his hair quickly. Vash just shakes his head at him and starts brushing his teeth.

Francis surfaces a few minutes later, hair artfully dishevelled as it falls to his shoulders in gentle waves. He looks like he's dressed to attend a business meeting, not to go and drink coffee and plan what is essentially a large, expensive night out downtown.

"We're getting coffee, not deciding the fate of the world. Why are you in a shirt?" Vash raises an eyebrow at him and spits his toothpaste into the sink.

"I look fabulous." Francis huffs, turning his head quickly to face the other man, his hair whirling around his face.

"Yeah, okay." Vash flattens his hair again and steps out of the bathroom.

"Didn't I make sure you bought a new sweater yesterday?" Francis asks, confused, as he spots what the shorter man is wearing.

"Yes."

"So why are you still wearing that  _thing_?"

"Two reasons." Vash holds up his fingers and comes to a stop in front of the twenty-three year old. "The first is that it's really warm, and I'm really cold. The second is an added bonus, really: it annoys you. Which, I suppose, is also reason enough on its own."

"I hate you so much."

"No, you don't. Now go get in the car." He throws his car keys at him as he heads to retrieve Antonio. "I'm driving."

They're all squashed into Vash's tiny little silver Volvo five minutes later, and Francis is loudly complaining that the car is too small for him.

"You say that every time you're in this car." Vash replies, not looking at him as he focuses on turning out of the road and navigating the crossroads. "You could've walked."

"Please. In this weather? I think not."

"Are you two always like this?" Antonio asks from the backseat, leaning forward between their headrests to look between them both.

"Pretty much."

"You know, I didn't even think you two were friends." Antonio shrugs, sitting back again. "You're pretty different."

"We didn't get a choice." Vash sighs, stopping at a red light and turning in his seat to look at the other man. "We're practically family."

"What?"

"Francis, you explain." Vash waves his hand as the lights change, and he pulls away from his position.

"Well, basically, our parents are friends. My mother lived in Switzerland when she was younger, and went to school with Vash's mother. She moved back to Paris when she was twenty, met my father and had me and Marianne. She stayed in touch with Annaliese –that's Vash's mother, by the way– even though they'd moved to Boston by then, and whenever they came back to Europe to visit their parents, they'd come see us too. Then, when it came to me going to college, I moved here, and a few years later, Vash showed up. We had the same weird group of friends, so we ended up staying friends, I suppose. When we both came out, I think they wanted us to get married, or something as equally horrifying."

"My mother actually asked me when one of us was planning to propose last time I saw her. She was unusually sad when I told her we weren't even together." Vash muses, turning down another street into the main town area. "I think she's just desperate for us to finally be family, or something."

"I could always marry Lilli, if she's that worried." Francis wiggles his eyebrows at him, and Vash takes one hand off the wheel to hit him across the arm.

"Think again, asshole." He grumbles, pulling in to a parking space outside a small, nondescript cafe with a small, hanging wooden sign with  _Belgian Bites_ painted on it.

Roderich and Elizabeta are already there, sitting together and sipping hot drinks from hand painted mugs. Roderich has a newspaper spread over the table and Elizabeta is talking to the proprietor, a smiling blonde girl with a bright red headband, and a nametag reading ' _Bella!_ ' There's another girl with them, shrunk down in her seat and knitting quickly, short blonde hair tucked behind her ears.

Roderich looks up when he hears the bell on the shop door, and pulls himself to his feet to wrap a lazy arm around Vash.

"I'm glad you could make it." He smiles and sits the blonde down opposite him and closes his newspaper.

"Well, it's not like you could plan a bachelor party without the best man, is it?" Vash laughs lightly, settling himself into his chair. "It is kind of my job."

Antonio and Francis pulls up chairs and squash themselves around the table and order drinks. The other girl sets down her knitting on her lap and looks up at the rest of them.

"Everyone, this is Katyusha. She's Ivan's sister and my best friend, and she'll be my maid of honour at the wedding." Elizabeta announces, smiling at the other girl, who seems nervous as she waves at the rest on them. "Kat, this is Vash, the best man, Francis and... who are you again?"

She frowns at Antonio, who frowns back just as hard and holds out his hand again.

"Antonio Fernandez Carriedo." He replies, and she makes a face as she shakes his hand –he doesn't seem to notice, but if he does, he obviously doesn't care. Roderich and Vash look at each other and make faces of concern –neither of them really knows what Elizabeta's problem is, only that she has one.

"Right, Antonio. Sorry. Anyway, they're the groomsmen. And a man called Gilbert, who I think is hungover and asleep in a hotel room somewhere. You probably won't like him much. There's someone else, too, he's called Arthur and he's British; he's actually a pretty nice person. He's at work now, so he couldn't be here. I think you'll like him."

Katyusha nods, clearly still apprehensive as she reaches for a strand of her hair to twirl around her slim fingers. She looks over at the three of them and smiles weakly, and Vash almost can't believe that a quiet, shy girl like her can be friends with someone as brash and outgoing as Elizabeta.

"Kat, do you want to come and talk to Bella with me? I meant to ask her if she'd be a bridesmaid and I completely forgot." Elizabeta pulls herself to her feet, straightening the orange flower in her hair.

"Sure." The other girl stands and rearranges her blouse, tucking it back into her high-waisted shorts. "It was nice meeting you all."

"Yeah, you too." Vash replies with a tiny smile and a wave of his hand. She smiles at him and follows Elizabeta across the cafe to where Bella is standing.

"So, does anyone  _actually_ have any ideas?" Roderich asks when he's sure that Elizabeta is well and truly out of earshot.

"Well, Francis suggested strippers, but I told him exactly what you'd say to that." Vash explains with a shrug, pulling his sweater up his shoulder again.

"And what would I say?"

"I'm pretty sure it would be 'hell no' or something along those lines."

"You're correct." Roderich laughs, running a hand through the dark hair that falls against his cheek. "And I already told Liz that we wouldn't get strippers, because she said she didn't want them at her bachelorette party."

Francis makes a whipping sound and flicks his wrist; Roderich turns to glare at him over the tops of his glasses.

"Shut up, you ass." Roderich snaps, making to hit him with his rolled up newspaper and missing as Francis dodges. "I think we should just go out for the night."

"That's what I said." Vash replies, almost smugly as he looks at Francis. "I told you I knew him better than you."

"I would hope you know me better than Francis does. I practically taught you how to speak English when we were kids." Roderich laughs at him, and Vash pouts and flushes a little pink across the tops of his cheeks.

"I didn't ask you to do that, you know. You took it upon yourself. I was getting by just fine." Vash huffs, folding his arms across his chest and looking down to hide his blush.

"No, you weren't. When I asked you what your name was, you answered completely in French. Then apologized for it in German. I didn't even know you could speak even half-decent English until I dragged you to my house and my mother asked you what you were called and where you were from."

"Shut up." Vash groans, hiding his head in his hands and frowning.

"Tell me you filmed that." Francis leans forward conspiratorially. "I can use it as blackmail for his twenty-first birthday."

"Hey, you were just as bad when you first started learning English!"

"I'm surprised you remember; you were only about eight. And I didn't see you that often."

"I don't remember specifics; I just remember that your accent was hilarious. And you were so proud of yourself when you learnt how to spell  _because_ that you wouldn't stop bragging for weeks."

Francis scowls at him and pushes his shoulder, and Antonio and Roderich look at each other with bemused smiles and turn and laugh at the two of them.

"Are you quite finished?" Roderich huffs after another minute of them frowning at each other.

"Yes, we're good." Vash unfolds his arms and pulls the cuffs of his sweater straight.

"So, do you just want to find a bar to book a room in, then?" Roderich suggests. "That shouldn't cost too much, I don't think."

"Sure." Vash shrugs. "I think Gilbert should be able to help with that; I have a feeling he can hunt down the cheap bars in any city he's in."

"If not, I'll ask around." Francis offers. "Someone in the kitchen is bound to know somewhere nice."

"Sounds like a plan." Antonio agrees, standing up and surveying the other three. "Now can I go call Lovino? I'm worried about him."

"Sure." Francis and Vash say simultaneously.

"Thanks for this, guys." Roderich smiles, standing up and starting to pull his jacket and scarf on.

"Welcome." Francis grins lopsidedly, and excuses himself. Elizabeta turns around then, spots that everyone else has practically left and pulls Katyusha back with her.

"Vash, can I talk to you for a second?" She asks, reaching over and touching his arm.

"Sure."

"Roderich, go and start the car, please. I don't think you should hear this."

"...Okay." Roderich says, taking the car keys from her and leaving. Vash panics internally because  _oh god, what if she knows, what if she noticed, oh I am so screwed._

"I was just wondering if you'd mind helping me pick out my wedding dress." She asks quietly, as if Roderich will hear through doors and over the sound of a car engine. "Can you ask Lilli along, too? I want to ask if she'll be my bridesmaid."

Vash exhales slowly, remembers how to breathe and nods quickly.

"Sure, but I don't really know why you want me to help. I'll call Lilli tomorrow."

"Well, Kat leaves for Florida again tomorrow, and I figured you know Roderich best, and you'll be able to help me pick something that will really be stunning to him."

Vash pales a little, ignores the fact that his heart suddenly hurts more than usual and nods.

"Yeah, okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone was unsure -Bella = Belgium (I'm inventive, I know) and Katyusha = Ukraine.  
> Also, potentially bad news: I have decided to make this fic the basis for a universe, if you will. The side stories won't be posted until after this is finished, and they won't necessarily be Vash or Roderich central (in fact, most will probably be side couples and backstory things) but it should be fun. c:


	7. Chapter 7

"I still don't believe you actually agreed to this." Lilli comments, standing next to her brother and looking up at the pink and white sign above the bridal store they're standing outside of.

"Well I couldn't exactly say no, could I? What would Roderich have said to that, he thinks I genuinely like her. Besides, I don't know why you're complaining; you always say you wish you saw more of me and you wish you got to spend more time with the girls, now you get to do both.

Lilli pouts at him, rearranges the skirts of her dress absently and reaches up to retie the bow in her hair. He crouches a little and kisses the side of his sister's head and she smiles.

"Love you, big brother." She smiles up at him, leaning against him. Vash lets her, hugging her loosely with one arm.

"Yeah, I know. Love you too."

Elizabeta drives up then, in her little green Peugeot, pulls into the empty space beside Vash's car.

"Lilli, hey!" She grins when she steps out of the car, locking it and moving quickly towards the two of them. She hugs the teenager tightly. "How are you?"

"I'm good." Lilli smiles, pulling back from her. "How are you?"

"I'm great!" Elizabeta links their arms together and leads her towards the store. "Now, I need to ask you something. Would you like to be a bridesmaid?"

"Wow, really?"

Vash sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, following them inside.

They're greeted by a cheery tan girl, her dark hair in two thick ponytails tied with red ribbons and wearing a nametag with  _Michelle_ written on it in pink calligraphy.

"Hi, how can I help you?" She bounds over to them and smiles. "Are you the happy couple?"

She looks between Vash and Elizabeta expectantly; they stare at each other in horror before they turn back to her.

"No!" They exclaim in unison.

"But I'm the bride." Elizabeta clarifies quickly, waving her hands around.

"I'm just the best man." Vash explains, raising his own hands. "I don't even-"

"Oh, I'm sorry; I just thought you must have been a couple since you came together!" Michelle smiles, laughing into her hand. "My mistake. What can I help you with today?"

"Well, er, I need a wedding dress, if that wasn't obvious." Elizabeta laughs. "Vash, you need a suit, don't you? And Lilli would like to find her bridesmaid's dress."

"Oh, that's easy!" Michelle claps her hands together excitedly. "Shall we start with the dresses?"

Elizabeta emerges from the dressing room for the first time about fifteen minutes later, fumbling with her dress skirts and glaring at the floor.

"I know it's too long for me, but what do you think?" She drops the skirt and looks at her reflection in the mirror and rearranges her hair.

"You look good." Vash admits with a small nod. "I don't think it's very  _you_ , though."

She thinks for a second, looks down at the intricate pattern of flowers and vines embroidered onto the dress with glittered thread and tiny beads, before she finally nods in agreement.

"You're right, I think. I'm not sure I've ever worn this much sparkly stuff before." She shrugs, pulling up the front of her dress as it threatens to slip down. "I just really want to impress Roderich, you know."

 _Yes, I know. I've been trying to impress him for the last five years at least_. Vash thinks, almost bitterly.

"I know you do." He says, standing up and moving over to her. "But if I know Roderich –and I do– then he'll want you to be yourself. He won't care how 'plain' you think you look, he'll just care that you're there and that you're the Elizabeta he fell in love with."

Elizabeta turns to look at him, looks up at him across the four inches of height difference and smiles softly at him.

"You really know him, don't you."

"It comes with putting up with someone for fourteen years, I think." Vash smiles, and Elizabeta laughs airily, holding her arms out and hugging him.

"I'm glad you're helping me with this, Vash." She says, turning back and disappearing behind the dressing room curtain. "I don't think I could have done it alone."

"It's fine. I needed a reason to stop swearing at my experiment analysis anyway."

"I'm glad I could help." Elizabeta reappears, her jeans back on and t shirt clumsily pulled over her head. "Can you help me look? I think Michelle is helping your sister."

They rummage through racks upon racks of wedding dresses, occasionally tugging one out to show the other and see what they think.

"You know, part of me is tempted to indulge in my Hungarian history for the wedding." She muses, flicking through a collection of straight-cut dresses.

"How so?"

"Well, at my parents' wedding, they broke a  _lot_ of stuff." She laughs. "Eggs, plates, glasses; I think they went a little crazy. It was traditionally Hungarian, or so my grandmother always used to tell me when she'd talk about it or show me the videos. My mom's dress was gorgeous; covered in flowers and bright colours, but I don't think I could get away with it now."

"If it makes you feel better, my parents flew us all back to Switzerland for their wedding –I was four, but Lilli obviously wasn't born yet- and my mother wore this stupid wreath on her head and then took it off and set fire to it like it was completely normal. Apparently it's something that happens a lot, but I was too young to understand it. And when we got home, they planted this little pine tree outside our house in Boston to celebrate –it's still there now, actually. It's getting really tall."

"That's really sweet." Elizabeta smiles, tucking her hair behind her ear as she turns around. "I keep meaning to ask Roderich's parents how they celebrated their wedding, see if there are any traditions we could carry on."

"His mother's told me the story of their wedding so many times." Vash's lips twitch with the ghost of a smile. "Apparently it was a lovely service."

"Do tell."

"She showed me the video of it her mother-in-law had taken once; we were thirteen and I'd just gone over for pizza and to watch the  _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ movie that had just come out on DVD and she hijacked the TV to make us watch the whole wedding." Vash laughs quietly and shakes his head. "It was interesting. Since she's Austrian, and his dad is Jewish, it was crazy. Like some weird hybrid of folk dancing and glass-breaking."

"I'll have to ask her to show me sometime." Elizabeta laughs, pulling out a dress from the racks.

"Oh, she will. She'll sit you down and tell you every little detail that you probably didn't even want to know, it's in her nature. She's always been like that."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Even when we were kids and we lived halfway across town from each other. She'd be driving me and Roderich to school in the morning and she'd be talking all about how she had a horrible dream, or she knew she was going to have a terrible day at work or whatever. I didn't really mind, I thought she was pretty funny, but Roderich was so embarrassed about the whole thing. I just told him she was being a pleasant person and that he ought to learn a little from her."

"I've only met his mother twice, I think." Elizabeta muses, looking at the dress in her hand before sliding it back into the rack. "He's nothing like her, is he?"

"Not really." Vash admits. "Where Carli is warm and friendly, he's pretty closed-off and grumpy. Not that I can talk, or anything. But yeah, he's definitely like his dad."

"What do you think of this one?" Elizabeta changes the subject and holds out another dress.

"It looks okay, but it'll probably look better on. Go and try it." Vash nods towards the dressing rooms. "Do you mind if I go find a suit?"

"No, go ahead. I'll yell when I'm ready." Elizabeta grins at him and pulls the velvet curtain across in front of her.

Vash heads for the suits, flicking through rack after rack of black three pieces that all look exactly the same. He eventually stumbles across a dark grey number, with an admittedly uncomfortable looking waistcoat, but thinks it's probably the best he's going to get.

"What are you doing?" Lilli hisses from behind him, and he jumps, turns around to glare at his sister.

"Finding a suit, what does it look like?"

"Not  _that_." She says, her shoulders dropping. "I meant with Liz. You're in love with her fiancé!"

"I'm well aware of that." Vash replies, turning back to the suits behind him.

"Brother, you're only hurting yourself." Lilli says, her voice quiet as she reaches over to touch her brother's side.

"I know that much." Vash sighs, quickly turning back to his sister. "It's technically  _for_ Roderich, though, isn't it?"

"You can't justify things with that, Vash." She answers quietly, with a shake of her head. "You'll only hurt yourself more."

"I'll be fine."

"Vash!" Elizabeta's voice echoes across the store. "Come and look at this!"

He and Lilli move across the store towards the dressing rooms and see Elizabeta standing there, resplendent in a bright white, sleeveless dress. There's a wide, ribbon band around her waist with barely-there flowers embroidered delicately in places. She has a tiny, glittered tiara on her head and a veil falling over her hair.

"What do you think?"

"You look great!" Lilli enthuses, moving past Vash and staring at Elizabeta in awe.

"You do." Vash admits, coming closer to her and reaching to rearrange her veil a little over her shoulders. "Roderich will love it."

"You really think so?"

"Yeah." Vash smiles lopsidedly, and she grins at him.

"Oh, you found a suit! Go put it on!" She ushers him to the dressing room next to hers and pulls the curtain across. He can hear her and Lilli gossiping outside, and Elizabeta compliments Lilli's dress –that Vash suddenly realizes he never even noticed- as he fights with the buttons on the waistcoat. He eventually gets it fastened and pulls the jacket over the top, closing the single button and straightening everything in the mirror.

"Well, it needs a tie, but what do you think?"

Both girls turn to look at him and Elizabeta smiles wide at him, clapping her hands together.

"You look so good! And I know exactly what tie you need." She disappears around the corner and Vash can hear her humming to herself as she goes.

"Here." She comes back a minute later with an orange strip of ribbon and holds it out to him. "I was going to get one of those clip ones, but I figured if anyone knows how to actually tie one  _nicely_ , it'd be you."

"Francis taught me when I was younger, for some reason." He replies as he arranges the fabric around his neck. He ties it quickly and clumsily, straightens it up and looks at the two of them again. "Why orange, though?"

"My bouquet is orange flowers. I don't know which yet, though."

"Wow, you all look fabulous!" Michelle reappears then, with padded coat hangers and carrying covers in her hands. "I told you that dress would look amazing on you."

Elizabeta smiles almost shyly, looks down at the floor and goes a little pink across her cheeks.

Fifteen minutes later, after Vash is back in a much more comfortable pair of jeans and a thick hoodie and they've spent collectively far too much on dress clothes, Elizabeta hugs them both goodbye and clambers into her car.

Vash drives Lilli to the airport, because even though she only flew in two days ago, their mother is making sure she's back as soon as possible so she doesn't miss too much school.

"Stay safe, alright?" Vash instructs as he hands her her ticket and bags. "Don't talk to anyone you shouldn't; they could be dangerous."

"I know, I know, you tell me every time I go anywhere." She smiles at him. "Love you, brother."

"Yeah, I know. Love you too." He kisses her forehead and ushers her towards the check-in desks. "Call me when you get home, okay?"

She nods and dashes off to check in.

Vash sighs and shakes his head affectionately after her before he turns on his heel and heads for his car. Roderich texts him as he's leaving, asking to meet him at the Starbucks downtown to finalize the bachelor party plans.

He gets there first, perusing the area and moving to check the shifts to see when he's next at work.

"Oh, hey, Vash." Henri appears over his shoulder with a cup in his hand. "Bella told me she saw you the other week."

"Yeah, she did. I was in the cafe she runs with your brother with everyone."

"Sounds fun." Henri laughs. "Do you want anything?"

"Yeah, might as well. You know what I order."

Henri smiles at him, and has turned around to start the coffee machines when Roderich comes bustling over.

"Hey, Vash. I thought I'd missed you." He says, face flushed pink from the wind outside.

"No, I just got caught up talking to Henri. How are you?"

"I'm good." Roderich says with a nod. Henri turns back around and takes his order. "Thanks for shopping with Elizabeta this morning, by the way. She really appreciated it."

"So she said." Vash replies, and the two of them scoop up their drinks and head towards a table.

"Well, we've set a date." Roderich announces when they're settled down in huge armchairs. "Two months from now."

Vash reels back, because he knew it'd be soon but he never imagined it'd be  _that_ soon, but he recovers enough to nod and choke down some of his caramel latte.

"I was thinking we should just go out for drinks or something, maybe be a little stupid."

"That sounds okay, but you do realize we'll probably be the only two that won't get served, right?"

"Please. We've been served before." Roderich reasons with a shrug. "And besides, if we don't, we always have a backup plan."

"And what's that then?"

"We have a Francis."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, lots of stuff to say with this. the first is, if it was unclear; Henri = Luxembourg and Michelle = Seychelles.  
> the other thing is I managed to squash in a teensy bit of my headcanon in this chapter, and that's that Hungary/Elizabeta is about 5'2/3 and Switzerland/Vash is only about 5'6/7 -so he's taller than her, but he's hardly huge in comparison.  
> ^.^


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is brought to you by a literal self-pity party.  
> I wish I was kidding.

"So, shall we call that done, then?" Roderich asks as he finished his third cappuccino and sets the mug down. He looks at the notes Vash has written down on the napkin in front of him. "Just book out a room upstairs, make sure it has a bar that's not too expensive, and that's it's not too far out of town."

"Yeah, okay." Vash finishes writing and puts the pen back in his pocket before he folds the napkin and carefully puts that in the back pocket of his jeans. "I'll split the cost between all of the groomsmen, though. You don't need to worry about it."

"But shouldn't I-"

"Don't worry about it. We can handle this much. You're already paying for most of the wedding itself, anyway, and that's hardly going to be cheap. I think we'll be able to afford renting a room between five of us, you know."

"Good." Roderich laughs. "But the offer's there if you do need it."

"Yeah, I know." Vash pulls himself to his feet and picks up his jacket, starting to pull it on to his shoulders when Roderich grabs hold of his wrist.

"Vash, are you okay? I mean, I know we've not seen that much of each other lately, what with planning for the wedding and all, and I'm kind of worried about you? You look sad."

"I'm fine." Vash replies, with a firm nod. "Honestly. I'm just a little stressed is all. I've got a lot of work that needs doing for college –I swear, if I have to graph another equation I  _will_ kill an innocent bystander- and I'm helping you and Elizabeta with all this wedding stuff, I barely have time to breathe. Once I get to sleeping it off I'm sure I'll look a bit less dead."

"Go easy on yourself, okay? I know what you get like; you'll work until you pass out."

Vash huffs, pulls his jacket on and fastens the buttons carefully.

"I will. I'm not that stupid."

"Good." Roderich smiles up at him and sets his mug down. "I'll see you soon, then?"

"Yeah. See you." Vash raises his hand and excuses himself, fighting through the wind to his car. He turns on the heaters and sits for a minute, rubbing his hands to warm himself up. He sighs and closes his eyes for a moment, before he digs for his keys in his pockets and heads home.

When he arrives, he enters the sitting room to find Francis and Antonio removing all the cushions from the couch.

"What the hell are you two doing?"

"We're building a pillow fort." Francis replies nonchalantly, as if it's normal. He's still in his chef's whites, and his hair is still up in a loose ponytail, so he obviously hasn't been home from work for that long.

"Dare I ask why?"

"We've both had terrible days, and want the comfort and warmth of a cave built from couch cushions and bed sheets. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Worryingly, no. Aside from that fact that you're both over the age of ten, I can't really find an issue, so I'm not going to stop you."

"You look like you had a bad day too, amigo." Antonio comments, surfacing from under a pile of unfolded sheets. "Come and build with us."

Half an hour later, after much arguing and debating over the structural integrity of four bed pillows stacked together, they find themselves curled up under blankets beneath a canopy of cushions and sheets.

"So, what happened to you two that lead to this?" Vash gestures at the fort around them before he lays flat and folds his arms, resting his head on them.

"I tried to speak to Lovino again." Antonio sighs, rolling over on to his back and resting his head on his hands. "He wouldn't answer the phone for a while, and when he did, he wouldn't even listen to me. He just shouted and shouted, and then hung up on me. I called him back and he didn't answer, so I called Feli and he said that Lovi would call when he was ready to talk to me, but that it wouldn't be for a while yet. Then he hung up too. I don't think he's going to take me back."

"I still don't understand what you did wrong in the first place." Vash shrugs. Francis murmurs in agreement.

"I think he was jealous of the way I talked about Roderich." Antonio reasons with a soft sigh. "When we spoke on the phone, I tried to tell him that we were just kids, maybe sixteen at best, but he didn't want to hear it. I think he thinks I still like Roderich, or I prefer Roderich to him, or something."

"He has one hell of an inferiority complex." Francis comments absently, fumbling with the black ribbon in his hair, untying it and letting his hair fall in his face.

"I know." Antonio sighs. "But I love him. I wish he realized how much."

"Tell him." Vash says, frowning at the carpet in front of him. "If you don't think he sees it, then tell him. I know I'm hardly an expert on the whole 'relationships' thing, but I know how people work well enough to know that he's probably just scared."

"What is there to be scared of?" Antonio despairs, throwing his head back and frowning at the sheet above him.

"Commitment might be a big thing for him." Francis reasons, tucking a few stray hairs behind his ear. "It is for some people, myself included."

"I suppose." Antonio deflates a little. "I should apologize, shouldn't I?"

"Leave him, for now at least." Francis tells him, leaning over and touching his arm as if to support him. "Let him come to you. I think you both need the time to think."

"He's right, you know." Vash agrees in the quiet, and Antonio rolls on to his side to look at them both.

"You're sure?"

"Yes. Don't stress yourself over it. He'll call you when he's ready to." Vash continues, and Francis nods. Antonio smiles weakly and leans over to stretch his arm over the two of them in a lazy hug.

"I just wish Arthur would talk to me." Francis sighs, blue eyes suddenly wet. "I know the last time I saw him we argued, and that might not be the best incentive, but I just want to know he's alright, if he's happy. I just-"

He stops, chokes on his words for a second, and Vash and Antonio shuffle closer to him and wrap an arm each around him.

"I just want to know if he feels as bad as I do." Francis admits quietly, closing his eyes. "I don't think he does, though. He came into the restaurant today –and he  _knew_ I'd be there; my shifts haven't changed since we broke up- with Gilbert, Matthew and  _Alfred_ , the bastard. I wouldn't have even noticed, but Yao was serving and came running up to me to tell me, and to give me their order."

"Tell me you didn't spit in his food or anything." Vash interjects. "That could get you fired."

"No, I'm not that stupid. I wouldn't risk losing my job over him when he doesn't care enough to give me time to even try to get over him. They were still there when I left at the end of my shift, and I know he saw me. Matthew actually mouthed an apology, and then texted me from Gilbert's phone to actually tell me. I just wish he'd tell me upfront instead of shoving his happiness and his stupid new boyfriend in my face."

"You know I think he's a prick, so I'm not going to tell you again. You probably won't listen to me anyway." Vash says, shrugging. Francis laughs wetly and leans into his shoulder.

"Sí, he sounds like an ass. He's definitely not worth your time." Antonio continues with a nod, resting his head on top of Francis'.

"But I love him." Francis says quietly, looking down at the carpet and picking at it carelessly.

"We know." Vash replies. "And we know you want to talk to him, but maybe it's for the best that you don't. Maybe you should think about something or someone else. Even just as a start."

"But I can't." Francis sighs, lowering his head even further. "I know it's stupid because everyone thinks I'm the promiscuous one who'll sleep with anything that moves, but I'm not, alright? I'm pretty sure he's it."

"He's what?" Antonio asks, confused, looking down past his nose to the blonde underneath him.

"I think he's it for me. The 'one', my soul mate, my other half, whatever you want to call it."

"You believe in that?"

"I probably should. I'm French, you know. We are the country of love, after all. I want him to know, I guess. Even if he doesn't feel the same way. I think I just want to get it off my chest."

"So tell him." Antonio shrugs, moving off Francis and looking at him, his green eyes fierce. "Who cares how he responds?"

"I think I should care, though. Not that he'll feel the same, because he obviously doesn't since he's got... whatever it is with Alfred, but I just want him to  _know_."

"So tell him." Vash repeats Antonio's words, pushing his bangs out of his eyes only for them to fall straight back down against his forehead. "It might sound stupid to just walk up to him and tell him, but won't that be easier? Just get it off your chest outright and try your hardest to get over him?"

"I don't think I could get over him even if I wanted to." Francis admits with a soft sigh, finally letting a few tears fall. "But you know how that is, don't you?"

"Don't remind me." Vash sighs, leaning back against Francis. "I think I started to love him when we were ten."

"You guys should really tell them." Antonio says, looking at them with genuine concern in his eyes. "It can't be good for you to feel this way."

"I'm used to it." Vash deadpans.

"I imagine I'll be able to cope for a while longer at least. I hope I can, anyway."

"Hey, think yourself lucky. You didn't have to go dress shopping with his future wife today." Vash groans, pressing his free hand to his face. "That was all kinds of torture."

"How did that go, by the way?"

"I bought a suit. She got a dress. She looked beautiful." Vash lists dejectedly. "It'd be easier if she was hideous and I hated her, to be honest. But she's kind of pretty and is usually an okay person, so it makes the whole thing even worse. Why couldn't she just be an ugly bitch?"

"Do you really think Roderich would go for that?" Francis laughs. "Would you really let him?"

"He dated Gilbert, didn't he?" Vash replies quickly, a smirk in his voice. "I think that takes a certain degree of blindness."

They all laugh together for a moment, and then they fall silent and look at one another.

"Well, it sucks to be us right now, huh?" Antonio sighs, and the other two look at him and nod in agreement.

" _Oui_ , but we can cope. We're better than this." Francis says, tugging them both into a hug.

They fall asleep like that, curled up in a blanket fort in front of a radiator, in chef's whites and sweatpants and a thick winter coat.

As a result, they wake up far later than they should the next morning, which leads to Vash and Francis sharing the bathroom and arguing over the mirror while Antonio makes them all coffee. Vash downs his in three mouthfuls as he pulls clean jeans on and digs out a shirt. He puts the mug down on the coffee table with an unceremonious clank, fights with his boots and runs for his car. He arrives at his lecture on the Uncertainty Principle ten minutes late, but still beats Toma and Stevan, who show up a good ten minutes after him.

Because he ends up staying late to scribble down the notes he missed at the start, he finds himself running late for work. He runs in with his uniform over his arm, and Henri laughs at him from behind the counter. Vash glares at him and disappears to get changed, and when he returns five minutes later, he discovers that Berwald has clocked in, to his great displeasure. Henri smirks at him as he clocks out, his apron over his arm. Vash glares after him.

He and Berwald serve in relative silence for two hours, maybe even three or four, until Vash can finally clock out. It's not that easy, though, because –as always- Anton is late for his shift and Vash is forced to lurk around for a further half an hour to cover for him.

Roderich shows up just before Anton does, laughs openly at his best friend's plight, and is fixed with a withering look. Berwald looks distinctly bemused by the whole situation, but Roderich looks a little bit terrified.

"Do you mind coming to help me sort out the honeymoon?" He asks, leaning on the counter and sipping from the take-out latte Vash had just served him.

"Shouldn't you do that with Elizabeta?"

"It's supposed to be a surprise."

"Fine. Once Anton gets his lazy ass here, we can go."

As if on cue, Anton comes bustling through the door then, apologizing profusely as he goes to clock in. Vash pulls his apron over his head.

"Don't do it again, alright? This is the third time."

"Okay, sorry." Anton does at least have the decency to look a little guilty, Vash thinks as he turns back to Roderich.

"Let's go. Did you walk?"

"Yeah. It's not like I live far away."

Vash bundles him into his car and fastens his own seatbelt across his chest, fumbling in his pocket for his keys.

"So, where were you thinking of going?" Vash asks as he pulls the car away from the sidewalk and heads downtown.

"Well, somewhere in Europe, really. I was thinking England or Spain."

"You, in Spain? Please, you turn lobster pink at even the slightest hint of sun." Vash scoffs, not bothering to turn to Roderich because he can imagine the withering look he's getting.

"Well, what do you suggest, Mr. Travel Guru?"

"Europe's nice in general, really." Vash shrugs. "I know someone from Lithuania, actually. He said it's lovely there. A little obscure for a holiday, maybe, but at least it's not going to be busy.

"Lithuania? Really? Hardly the destination I had in mind."

"You know if Francis was here, he'd be shouting Paris in your ear until you said yes." Vash says as a subtle, backhanded suggestion.

"That's an idea." Roderich muses, tapping his chin in thought. "France is a nice place, isn't it? You've been."

"It's nice, yes, but it's very cold in winter. Ankle deep snow some years, too." Vash replies with another shrug. "Pretty expensive too, if I remember rightly. But then, I'm Swiss, I can vouch that Switzerland is far more expensive."

"Do you think Francis would be able to recommend some places if we did go to Paris?"

"Probably. He does brag about his excessive knowledge of his home country far too often. It's horrendous. It'd be like me walking around singing  _Cantique Suisse_ every five minutes."

"And Paris  _is_ the city of love." Roderich says, biting his lip in thought as Vash pulls in outside of the local travel agents.

"No matter what I say, you're going to Paris, aren't you?" Vash gives him a scornful look, and Roderich smiles sheepishly.

"Maybe." Roderich shrugs. "It seems nice."

"Go." Vash says, pushing at his shoulder. "Book your fancy little holiday to France. I'm sure you don't need me to hold your hand."

"Fine. I don't need your help anyway." Roderich huffs, moving to get out of the car.

"I'm joking, you ass."

"Oh. I knew that." Roderich blushes with embarrassment. "I'd better go anyway, I think. I'll see you tonight?"

"What's tonight?"

"Arthur and Alfred's housewarming party. Didn't Francis tell you?"

"Wait, they're-" Vash starts, before he suddenly realizes what Roderich said and turns to stare at his best friend.

"Shit. Francis!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> few random 'oc' names in this update: Toma = Croatia; Stevan = Serbia & Anton = Romania.  
> also a wee bit of my headcanon is showing again: France/Francis believes in soulmates.


	9. Chapter 9

Vash practically ejects Roderich from the car, dumps him on the sidewalk and waves him off haphazardly as he drives away. He breaks the speed limit more than a few times as he powers towards the suburbs and their crappy little apartment building. He nearly gets into an accident with a cyclist and a heavy goods vehicle, and then almost crashes into a parked car in his rush to park the car and get inside.

"Francis?" He asks, shouting out louder than he normally would, switching on the lights in the hallway as he moves through the apartment. "Francis, are you alright?"

There's silence across the apartment, and Vash waits for a beat, sighing to himself and letting his shoulders drop for a second before he carries on upstairs. He checks the spare room first –since it's doubling as an office for both of them at the moment, he could be in there doing audits for the restaurant. Even as Vash opens the door he knows he won't find him there –he hears a shallow sob from Francis' room and swallows, turning off the lights in the spare room and bracing himself to see the state his roommate is in.

"Francis?" He knocks on the door, hand balled into a nervous fist. "Are you alright?"

He doesn't respond save for a quiet, wet, whimper and the tail end of a sob.

"Francis? I'm coming in, okay? Please don't be naked." He knows it's a little insensitive, but he'd rather not be scarred mentally by the sight of an unclothed Francis.

He's safe, though, when he pushes open the door and sees the older man sprawled over the top of his blue bed sheets, head buried face first in his pillow and his shoulders shaking softly.

"Oh, Christ." Vash says, moving into the room and sitting down on the edge of the bed, perching awkwardly. "Francis, what happened?"

The other blonde doesn't even roll over, instead digs in his pocket for something and thrusts it at the younger man. Vash takes the folded cream card from him, opens it cautiously and reads it.

_Arthur Kirkland and Alfred Jones cordially invite Vash Zwingli and Francis Bonnefoy to their housewarming celebrations at Apartment 227, Baxter Road; 6pm until late. Drinks will be provided._

"I'm sorry." Vash says quietly, dropping the card on to the bed and leaning to rest a hand on the small of Francis' back. "We don't have to go, you know."

"I know." Francis rolls over on to his side, twisting his legs together and looking up at Vash with damp eyes. "I'm just upset, I mean I knew he'd started to move on from me, and all, but I didn't think even he could move that fast. Maybe it's vain of me, but I'd started to hope that I meant a little more to him than that."

"That's not vain." Vash scoffs, laying down flat on his back next to the Frenchman. "Five years is a pretty long time to get attached to someone. I'd expected him to take at least a little longer. I know I'm not the most supportive person, before you say it, but I'm just being honest, here. I will go over there and punch him in his stupid face if that'd make you feel better."

"Don't, Vash." Francis says, propping himself up on one elbow to look at the other man. "He's not worth you getting arrested for. Even if he does deserve it."

"I might just go and have a loud shout at him anyway." Vash moves to sit himself up, and Francis grabs him by the arm to stop him.

"Don't, please."

"Why not? He deserves to know he's an asshole, doesn't he?" Vash reasons, and Francis sighs and releases his arm to let him move.

"Fine, but please don't do anything stupid, okay? I don't want to have to drive over there to rescue you from a fight with him. Or anyone, really."

"Okay, I won't." Vash goes to stand up, but Francis stops him again. He kisses the top of the shorter man's head and Vash frowns at him. "Thank you. For everything."

"You're welcome." Vash's mouth barely quirks up into a smile. "Now, if you don't mind me, I'm going to go and shout at your ex boyfriend."

Vash knows where Arthur lives, of course, because he used to live above them when he and Francis were still together, and so he marches over there, wrapped up in a hoodie under his dark green trench coat (that is  _still_ too long for him despite the fact that he's owned it for three years) with the white cross patches on the shoulders that Lilli sewed on for him. He's wearing a white beret, too, something he'd ordinarily avoid, but it's freezing cold and if he can use a classic symbol of France as some kind of subliminal message to Arthur then he will, thank you very much.

He knocks hard on the door a few times, waits for a response even though he knows that, chances are, they haven't heard his knock over the music and laughter coming from inside. He raps his fist on the door again, harder this time, until eventually the door cracks open. Alfred answers, glasses a little skewed and his dirty blonde hair sticking up in all directions.

"Hey, Vash, I'm glad you could make it. Where's Francis?"

"Oh, er, he's busy. He had to work late at the restaurant."

"Oh, that sucks." Alfred pouts as he moves aside to let him in, clearly not understanding that Francis doesn't want to see him or Arthur. Vash nods as he moves past him, unbuttoning his jacket as he moves and hanging it up carefully on the coat rack Alfred gestures to.

"Do you know where Arthur is?" He asks, turning back to the American. "Congratulations on the whole 'moving in' thing, too, by the way."

"Thanks." Alfred grins and straightens his glasses. "I think Arthur's in the kitchen. How have you been since I saw you last?"

"Alright, I suppose. I've mainly been focusing on my work for college, and when I haven't been doing that I've been at work, and between that and helping Roderich with the wedding and making sure Francis doesn't have a mental breakdown, I've barely had time to stop and think."

Alfred's expression falters, and he frowns, eyebrows knitting together.

"Is Francis really coping that badly?" He asks quietly.

"Well... Yes, if you want the honest answer. He was crying when I left to come here. He's been crying a lot lately, come to think of it. But don't think it's your fault." Vash corrects himself when he sees Alfred's sad blue eyes. "He doesn't blame you. Or at least, I don't think he really does. He blames himself more than anything."

"I'm sorry." Alfred says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and smiling awkwardly. "He should blame me at least a little, though. It's not like I had nothing to do with it."

"Don't you start. I'm not sure I can deal with everyone launching their own self-pity parties, Jesus Christ." Vash rolls his eyes. "In the long run, he'll be fine. Maybe not now, but he's not weak. Five years is a long time to get used to someone for them to just drop you on a whim."

"They were together five years?" Alfred asks in disbelief. Vash nods. "Arthur never told me that."

"Yeah. They met not too long after Francis first moved here, I think. Francis said he was nineteen and working in some restaurant in Washington when he looked up and saw Arthur. Apparently he was reading a translated copy of Rabelais'  _Gargantua and Pantagruel_ , and they got to talking. Francis told me he spent an hour with him pointing out the discrepancies between the original French text and the English edition. And the rest, as you would say, is history."

"Wow. I had no idea." Alfred looks guilty, looking down at the varnished wooden floor beneath their feet.

"Don't feel bad about it." Vash shrugs, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Sometimes things like this happen. It's probably for the best."

"I guess." Alfred's mouth twitches, turns down for a second before he smiles half-heartedly.

Vash is about to reply when Antonio comes barrelling into the hallway and hugs him cheerily. Vash pushes him off before he even gets as far as saying hello.

"Vash! I didn't know you were coming!" Antonio practically shouts, leaning into him and knocking their shoulders together.

"I wasn't. I'm not staying long; I just need a word with Arthur." Vash explains. Antonio hooks their arms together and pulls him further into the apartment. "How are things with Lovino?"

"Oh, they're great! We made up. I went back to talk to him earlier, and he took me back and said he was sorry. How's Francis doing?"

"Exactly how you think he is, I'd say. Weepy and unhappy, if you're unsure. Which is sort of why I'm here, really. "

"Amigo, don't be stupid about this." Antonio slaps him on the shoulder. "But if you are planning on hitting him, shout so I can come and film it, sí?"

"Fine." Vash rolls his eyes and tucks his hair behind his ear. Antonio grins at him before he lets him go, disappearing off to wraps his arms around Lovino's waist. The Italian frowns at him grudgingly before he pushes him off, insulting him in what Vash recognizes as accented Italian.

He leans into the kitchen, still remembering where it is thanks to the times he'd wandered into the apartment when Francis still lived there and he was living upstairs, in search of milk or pasta or a pair of curtains in the case that one of their parents was visiting. Arthur is in there, fumbling around with glasses and whiskey and a variety of other alcoholic beverages. He doesn't hear Vash enter as the blonde steps into the kitchen, so he's whistling to himself, and jumps about three feet into the air.

"Oh, hello, Vash. I didn't see you there." His accent is even more annoyingly English than Vash remembers, and he narrows his eyes at the older man.

"Hello, Arthur."

"How are you? I didn't know you were coming."

"I'm fine. I wasn't actually planning on attending, but consider me here on Francis' behalf rather than my own."

"How is he?" Arthur asks after a moment's hesitation.

"How do you think he is?" Vash spits, taking a step towards the other man, and even though he's a good two or three inches shorter than him, Arthur still backs up towards the kitchen cupboards.

"Well, I was just-"

"Stop talking. I didn't ask for an answer." Vash hisses, leaning forward into Arthur's space. "What the hell is wrong with you? Did he even mean a  _fucking thing_ to you?"

Arthur stares at him, his usually hard green eyes wide with fear, because Vash is really kind of mad, and he knows by now not to annoy the tiny blonde.

"Of course he did. I mean, you don't stay with someone for five years if they don't mean anything to you."

"Apparently you do!" Vash snaps, balling his hands into fists at his side. Arthur eyes him warily. "It's been a month, Arthur. Six weeks at best. All he's done is cry, go to work, come home and talk about  _you_ and then cried some more. He's exhausted. He doesn't understand –and neither do I, really– how you've moved on so quickly, like he never even mattered at all. I must say I'm intrigued."

"It's not that-" Arthur starts, stopping for a second and meeting Vash's fierce green gaze. "It's not to say that I  _am_  over him, per say."

"The fact that Alfred is moving in to the apartment you used to share with him says more than you can, anyway." Vash interrupts with a huff.

"That's not what I meant." Arthur sighs, running his fingers roughly through his bangs. "Is he really that bad?"

"No, I lied. He's actually totally fine. He's got a new boyfriend." Vash glares at him; Arthur has the nerve to look taken aback and start stammering out some kind of argument.

"Of course he's that bad!" Vash practically roars after a beat of silence. "He's worse! I'm getting worried about leaving him at home alone because I don't know what I'll come back to! You're an asshole and you don't even care whether he's even  _alive_ or not!"

Arthur stares at him, wide eyed and sad, mouth open in shock. Vash's chest heaves, and he breathes heavily and glowers at the taller man.

"Il mérite mieux que vous!" Vash shouts, unable to control himself and screaming in French in Arthur's stupid, smug face. "Je suis surpris que vous pouvez même regarder! Même si vous n'êtes pas ensemble, vous devez comprendre qu'il se sent toujours pour vous, si vous vous sentez la même chose ou pas! Vous ne pouvez pas juste être avec  _Alfred_  et s'attendre à ce qu'il soit d'accord, connard!"

Roderich, obviously roused from the other room by the sound of Vash's angry, Swiss-French accented screaming, comes running in and stares at the two of them in disbelief.

"What the hell is going on?" He asks, looking quickly between the two of them.

"Arthur!" Vash replies, folding his arms. "C'est un salaud!"

Roderich understands enough French to know what he means and raises his eyebrows at his best friend.

"Really? Jesus Christ, Vash."

"Tais-toi!" Vash huffs, turning on his heel and leaving the kitchen.

"I'm really sorry about this, Arthur." Roderich apologizes sheepishly, making a face at the older man. "I'll calm him down and get him to say sorry."

"It's fine, really." Arthur says, and Roderich smiles slightly and excuses himself, following Vash out of the room. Arthur sighs heavily, closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, leaning against the cabinets. He opens his eyes again after a minute or two and pulls out his cell phone to text Francis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The translations for the French in order are: Il mérite mieux que vous! = He deserves better than you!
> 
> Je suis surpris que vous pouvez même regarder! Même si vous n'êtes pas ensemble, vous devez comprendre qu'il se sent toujours pour vous, si vous vous sentez la même chose ou pas! Vous ne pouvez pas juste être avec Alfred et s'attendre à ce qu'il soit d'accord, connard! = I'm surprised you can even watch! Even if you're not together, you must understand he still feels for you, if you feel the same or not! You can't just be with Alfred and expect it to be okay, asshole!
> 
> Arthur! C'est un salaud! = Arthur! He's a bastard!
> 
> Tais-toi! = Shut up!
> 
> I'm going to point out now that I don't know that much French, just a little bit of conversational stuff, so this is machine (ie. Google) translated. Sorry for any mistakes.
> 
> Also, random information: it's mentioned more/properly clarified later on, but Vash speaks Swiss-French rather than Swiss-German because he's from the French-speaking region of Switzerland. That's all. c:


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time for some Anglo-Swiss bonding, methinks.

Arthur emerges from the kitchen fifteen minutes later and finds Vash leaning on the wall, engaged in a relaxed conversation with Matthew. Gilbert has his arm around Matthew’s waist, lazily fiddling with the hem of his shirt and resting his head on the other’s shoulder. He’s talking to Elizabeta about Germany, by the looks of things, and she doesn’t look too impressed.

“Vash, can I talk to you for a second?” Arthur stops next to him and the blonde looks up at him. He surveys his expression for a long moment with narrowed, icy green eyes.

“Alright, fine.” Vash takes a drink from the glass of cola Roderich must have gotten him to help calm him down. “Come on.”

Arthur walks with him into the hallway and they settle on the stairs, Vash periodically sipping from his drink as he eyes the other blonde warily.

“It’s different,” Arthur says after a few moments of silence, “with Alfred. It feels different.”

“What?”

“You said you didn’t know how I’d moved on so fast.” Arthur explains. “It feels different with Alfred. Like it’s right; like it was always supposed to be that way. You know what I mean?”

“Not really. I can’t say I do.”

“Well, it kind of feels like –wait, what?” Arthur frowns at the smaller blonde next to him. “You’ve had girlfriends before, haven’t you?”

“No. What made you think that?”

“I assumed, sorry. Boyfriends, then?”

“No, not really. I’ve never had anything like that.”

“Seriously?” Arthur asks in near disbelief.

“Yes, seriously. I realize it might come as a shock to you; the bisexual, twenty year old college student who’s never even been kissed, but it’s true.”

“I thought you’d dated before.” Arthur admits, frowning into his beer and kicking his feet out. “A few people have been interested in you, though. Francis told me that his sister was always trying to flirt with you and you kept shooting her down. And there was that girl that lives next door to Roderich; didn’t you say she was always coming on to you when you still lived there?”

Vash looks at him blankly.

“You’ll know who I mean; she’s kind of short, has long, dark hair, green eyes; she’s always in a dress?” Arthur continues.

“Oh, you mean Dalena?” Vash pauses to take a drink as Arthur nods in realization. “Yeah, she tried it a few times in between her weird on-off relationship with Alois. He lives two floors up; I don’t know if you know him.”

“You mean the surly bloke that’s built like a brick shithouse?” Arthur asks bluntly, and Vash splutters into his drink. “Probably about two feet taller than both of us, massive hands and really unhappy expression pretty much all the time?”

“Yeah, that’d be him.” Vash says after a drink. “I wouldn’t try anything even if I was interested in her, to be totally honest. I think I’d like to live more; Alois would probably try and rip my face off or something.”

“Like you’d let him.” Arthur scoffs, dragging his legs up to his chest and resting his arms on his knees. “Were you seriously not interested in her, though? I think everyone thought you were. We all thought Kiku kind of had a thing for you too, before he started dating Heracles. He used to stare at you all the time. It was kind of weird.”

“Really? I always figured he and Heracles were kind of _it_ for each other.”

“Yeah, everyone thinks that, but before Heracles started dating Kiku, he had some weird _thing_ with Sadik. They’d come in arguing about the night before all the time, and it was kind of horrifying, to be honest. I think they stopped whatever they were doing because Heracles said he wanted to shag someone else, and so did Sadik, and it turned out that the person they both wanted was Kiku, and it turned into some awkward mess from there. I found them arguing in the Renaissance gallery the other week, so it doesn’t even seemed to have calmed down after two years.”

“It’s _Sadik_ ; you seriously thought it’d calm down?” Vash asks in disbelief, staring at the older man.

“Fair enough, I suppose.” Arthur shrugs, taking another long drink. “You didn’t really answer me, though. Were you really that disinterested?”

“Well, yeah. It’s kind of hard to focus on anyone –no matter how attractive they are– when you’ve kind of been fixated on the same person for as long as you can remember?”

“So you _do_ like someone?”

“Yes, Captain Obvious. Why else would I say it?”

“You can’t just announce that and not tell me who it is. That’s cruel.” Arthur muses, looking sideways at the other man.

“Oh Christ, not you too. Antonio did practically exactly the same when I told him.”

“So it’s not like you’re keeping it quiet, then.”

“Well I hardly go shouting about them, do I? I’m pretty sure a lot of people are just convinced I don’t care.”

“That is pretty plausible.” Arthur shrugs, and Vash glares at him. “Sorry. Are you honestly not going to tell me?”

“Not if you keep asking me like that, I’m not.” Vash huffs, taking a drink to calm his nerves. “Besides, what makes you think I’d tell you, anyway?”

Arthur studies the younger man for a long few minutes, eyes narrowed as he sips thoughtfully from his beer.

“It’s Francis, isn’t it? That’s why you won’t tell me; you think I’ll be upset.” Arthur says, his eyes never leaving the twenty year old. Vash actually splutters, just narrowly stopping himself from spitting cola into Arthur’s face.

“What? You’re joking, aren’t you? You don’t _seriously_ think it’s Francis?”

“Well, why else would you get so defensive of him? And you do spend a lot of time with him, and you do clearly feel deeply for him. It wouldn’t upset me if you decided to go out with him, you know. It might make him happy.”

“Oh for god’s sake.” Vash presses his free hand over his face and sighs. “It’s not Francis! I got defensive of him because I care about him like you care about a _brother_ ; I spend a lot of time with him because we live in the same apartment. But I do not and never will feel ‘deeply’ for him! He’s a good friend; someone I’ve known practically since I was _born_ , I don’t want to have sex with him or even _kiss_ him! We’re just friends and that’s all I ever _want_ to be with him.”

“Okay, so it’s not Francis, then.” Arthur laughs, eyeing the other blonde.

“What gave you that impression?” Vash laughs weakly. “And besides, if anyone did actually show an interest in him, I can tell you now that he wouldn’t be interested back unless it was you.”

“Oh.” Arthur falls silent, looking at Vash for a long moment and taking another sip of beer. “Then who is it? Is it Antonio?”

“Why would it be Antonio? Sure, he’s my friend, but he’s also incredibly cheery and annoying and never shuts up. Not to mention the irritable Italian boyfriend who clearly has some kind of complex. And the fact that he randomly talks in Spanish sometimes.”

“You randomly speak in French when you get angry.” Arthur points out. “So did Francis, actually.”

“How astute of you.” Vash rolls his eyes. “He still does, sometimes. When he gets really mad or really upset. He’s upset a lot, lately."

Arthur deflates a little at his words and looks over at the other blonde.

“Sorry. I was talking to Alfred earlier, too. Before I started yelling at you. Sorry about that, by the way.” Vash says sheepishly, rearranging the hair at the back of his head. Arthur raises his hand to gesture that it’s fine and he probably deserved it. “He told me he didn’t know that you and Francis had been together for as long as you had, and he didn’t know how you met.”

“I never did tell him, to be honest. I didn’t know how to.”

“Well, you were friends before you got together, weren’t you? Didn’t you ever mention it to him?”

“I mentioned I had a boyfriend, but that was it. He never asked so I never told.”

“Arthur,” Vash says sternly, eyes hard, “that’s not how it works. You know that much by now, surely. You should have just said. Then maybe none of this would have happened.”

“I suppose. But I’m happy now. Happ _ier_ , rather. Because I was happy with Francis, no matter how it looks.”

“So why did you leave him?” Vash asks quietly, resting his glass on his knee and looking hard at the other man. “If he made you happy, and you made him happy, then why did you go?"

“I don’t know. It seemed right, it felt right, and it was different. I thought Alfred was special, I thought he might be the _one_ , you know? I’m not so sure now, but I do definitely feel _something_ for him.”

“It’s funny,” Vash says after a moment’s silence, “Francis said the exact same about you. He thinks you’re ‘it’ for him. Like he’ll never get over you.”

Arthur’s entire form droops, his shoulders sagging as he sighs and slumps forward.

“I get that too; it’s like I’m drawn to him.” Arthur explains quietly, like he’s afraid Alfred will hear him. “Like I know we’re supposed to be something, not just exes. I think there’s some folklore about that.”

“Please don’t tell me.” Vash continues with a roll of his eyes. “But I do get how you feel –at least kind of, anyway. This... This person that I like, we’ve been through a lot, and I kind of get it. Not that they’d ever acknowledge it, because they’ve always had someone and I’ve never had the nerve to turn around and say ‘ _hey, I like you, please go out with me_ ’ because I’m just not their type and they go for people who are much more charismatic than me and who actually outwardly care and-”

He starts rambling, voice running away with him as he trails off into an astounding display of self-pity, until he hears Roderich’s stupid, _stupid_ dry, accented laugh and snaps his head up. He can just about see him from here if he leans right, looks around the doorway into the dining room. He’s sloping against a cabinet, drink in his hand as he talks with Kiku and Heracles (the brunette has his arm around his boyfriend’s waist in a loose gesture of protectiveness, probably because he knows Sadik is around somewhere) and they laugh together.

Arthur frowns at him, confused as to why he’s suddenly stopped talking –not that that’s a bad thing, he thinks– and sees that he’s staring blankly into the dining room. He scowls harder, leaning to try and see what the younger blonde is staring at so angrily. At first he thinks it’s Kiku or Heracles, but then he realizes that Vash has never shown any kind of interest in Heracles outside of ‘drinking acquaintance’ and he’s already dismissed any chance of it being Kiku. Arthur pouts, leans a little further but still avoids drawing attention to himself, and spots the perfectly groomed, bespectacled brunette that Vash just _has_ to be staring at. His mouth almost opens in shock, as he reels back and settles himself, staring wide eyed at the flock wallpaper in front of him. He hadn’t even thought of Roderich, and now he kind of wants to kick himself because it’s so obvious.

“Oh my god.” He mutters to himself. “Oh my god.”

Vash snaps out of his reverie and turns to the other man with an eyebrow raised.

“What now?”

“I know who it is.”

“What?”

“I know who it is. The person you’ve liked for however many years but never said anything to because you’re an utter bell-end.”

“Go on, then. If I’m such a ‘bell-end’, then who is it?”

“It’s Roderich.” Arthur replies matter-of-factly, and Vash noticeably pales under his firm green gaze. “Don’t deny it, I know I’m right.”

“So what if you are? It’s not like it makes a difference.” Vash sighs, allowing his shoulders to deflate in defeat as he focuses on the patterned maroon carpet under his feet. He kicks absently at the stair with his tiny feet, watching as his boot curves against the wood.

“It makes all the difference. A problem shared is a problem halved, or whatever that bollocks saying is. You have someone to talk to, now, at least. Does anyone else know?” Arthur asks, leaning towards the smaller man and resting an arm on the stairs behind them.

“Yeah. Francis, Lilli, Antonio, and I think Feliciano probably knows. I think I’d drunk too much and stressed to him and he tried to help me fix things. He wasn’t much use, but he tried. And I’ll be honest here, but if people hadn’t started to work it out, I don’t think I’d have ever told anyone. It’s not like anyone can actually do anything about it, is there? I’m not getting over him any time soon, and he’s engaged to a girl I’m pretty sure he’s planning a future and two point five children with, so I fail to see how this could even work.”

“Now, now, Mr. Positive. Don’t think like that, alright? We all know he’s hardly as straight as an arrow –in fact I’d go as far to say he’s about as straight as a roundabout, not that you have those here– but it’s hardly like all hope is lost.”

“It might as well be. Even if he did feel the same –which he doesn’t– then it’s not like he’d drop someone as pretty and talented as Elizabeta for someone as emotionally stunted and useless as me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dalena = Slovakia  
> and, of course, Francis' sister = Monaco.


	11. Chapter 11

"You can't think like that, you know." Arthur says after a beat of silence. "You can't stumble through life never thinking you're good enough, because you  _are_ and just because you don't see it doesn't mean that other people don't, alright?"

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't think it really works that way." Vash sighs, running his fingers through the shorter hair at the back of his neck. "I thought you were supposed to love yourself before you loved others, but that hasn't worked out so well, has it?"

Arthur's formulating a response when the older of the two Constantinou brothers, Demitri, comes meandering into the hall to announce that he and his brother are leaving, and that they'll see him at work tomorrow. Arthur nods, and Garcia appears from the sitting room and stalks past his brother to the front door.

"They're a strange pair. Interesting to work with, but strange." Arthur muses before he turns back to the smaller man beside him. Vash is staring blankly and almost desperately into the room where Roderich is, as if looking longingly will make even an inch of difference. Arthur rolls his eyes at the small blonde next to him when he realizes he's not paying attention to him at  _all_ , and elbows him in his tiny ribs.

"What?" Vash suddenly snaps back to attention, turning to the Englishman with wide eyes. "Did I miss something?"

"Oh, never mind." Arthur rolls his eyes. "I was just talking about Demitri, but you probably have no idea who he is, so I see no point in repeating myself."

"I know  _of_ him, but I don't think I've ever actually met him." Vash replies thoughtfully, frowning at the wall opposite them. "Doesn't he work with you at the museum?"

"Yes –although I'm inclined to think he got that job purely on the basis that he's Heracles' cousin– but that's not the point, really." Arthur deadpans, drinking the last of his beer and setting the glass on the stair below. "If you love him like you say you do, then why don't you just say something?"

"What part of 'he's engaged to a pretty girl' didn't you understand? She liked him, he liked her, he asked her out. That's how it works. Early bird catches the worm or whatever that stupid saying is." Vash grumbles absently, twisting a long strand of his hair around his fingers.

"Oh, piss off, would you? You've probably been interested in him for longer than they've even known each other, going on what you're saying. If anyone was the proverbial 'early bird' in this situation, it's you. Bloody hell."

"It doesn't make a difference either way, though, does it? I don't see how it matters." Vash sighs, leaning back against the stair. "He'd never leave her for me if I said something, whether he felt the same or not. It's not in his nature to do something like that; I'd have thought you knew that by now."

"Hasn't it stopped being about him yet? Surely, if it's hurting you as much as it is, then it should be more about making  _you_ feel better. I'd have thought that was basic self-preservation."

"It will never stop being about him!" Vash snaps, turning to him quickly, his hair whipping around his face as he narrows his eyes at the older man. "You don't get it, do you? You've always been lucky enough to be interested in people who are interested back! It's always been him and he's  _always_ had someone else; whether it was Antonio when we were still kids, Gilbert when we were just leaving for college and Elizabeta now. And even if he  _didn't_ have someone, then what's to say he'd actually be interested in me? I'm just his nerdy best friend who talks in French when he gets mad and is still a good three inches shorter than everyone, and who doesn't really  _have_ all that many friends and-"

"Oi, shove off, would you?" Arthur reprimands him, hitting him around the shoulder with a flat hand. Vash frowns at him. "You're worth more than that. There is someone out there for you, you know."

"Oh god, not the soul mates thing again. Not you, too; I thought you were supposed to be smart!"

"I am smart, you shit. They don't let just  _anyone_  do Masters Degrees, you know. There's just a lot of folklore and old myths about soul mates that's compelling enough to instil at least some interest in me."

"Please stop talking."

"Heracles probably knows more about it than me, since he specialized in Ancient Greece and kind of  _is_ Greek, but there's a myth that was told by Aristophanes that explained that in the past, there were three genders; male, female and androgynous, and that each person was twice what they are now –they had four hands, four legs and two heads. These people were supposedly powerful enough to threaten the gods' power, but the gods wouldn't destroy them because they'd be forfeiting the sacrifices people made to them. So instead, they cut each person into two people –each with a head, two hands and two legs, and because people long for their original nature, they keep trying to find their so-called 'other half' to reunite with it." Arthur rambles on and on, and Vash sighs and rolls his eyes, leaning to a side to rest his head against the rails on the stairs.

"Don't you think it's fascinating?" Arthur turns to him with an almost dreamy look in his eyes, and notices the blank look on the Swiss man's face and sighs. "God, I have no idea why I bother with you sometimes. You can be such a tosser."

"What?"

"Oh, never mind!" Arthur groans, pressing his hand over his face. "Look, if you want advice on what to do with Roderich, I'm probably not the best person to talk to. I mean, yeah, I could have a bash at it but I'm hardly the font of all relationship knowledge. You'd be better off talking to Antonio and Francis."

"I've spoken to both of them, but Francis is a bit too busy with the whole 'crying and sleeping and eating excessive amounts of ice cream' cycle between working that he barely has time for himself, let alone to talk to me. And Antonio, well... You know what he's like. I'm not sure he gets it either."

"It might be worth it anyway. His relationship with Lovino seems like one massive disaster, to be frank. He could probably use the conversation."

"I suppose. I'll go and try and talk to him now, I think." Vash stands up and straightens his jeans down his legs and rearranges the hem of his shirt until it sits level. "Thanks –you know, for this. I don't actually hate you, really."

"Well, that's good to know." Arthur laughs, relaxing back against the stairs. "Wait, hang on –is Francis really that bad? Honestly."

"Yes, honestly. I'm not just out to make you feel like shit, Arthur. Even  _I'm_  not that much of a prick. I got home after work and after seeing Roderich, and I couldn't find him, so I panicked. I thought he might've-" Vash cuts himself off and makes a strange, almost choking noise in his throat. "Well, I was half expecting the worst. I didn't know if he'd even be  _breathing_ or-"

He stops again, voice wetter than before as it catches in his throat.

"Really?" Arthur pulls himself to his feet and moves across to where Vash is standing in the middle of the hallway carpet. The shorter blonde hesitates for a second, reaches up to rearrange the beret on his head –Arthur thinks about that time Francis had made him wear one when they'd gone to France so his parents could meet him for the first time– before he nods quickly.

"Yeah." Vash reaffirms after a few moments with another small nod. "I wish I could say I was joking, or say that he's fine, but he's not. I know he's an overdramatic person anyway, but he's worse than I've ever seen him, whether all of its completely genuine or not. I'm worried about him."

"Would you-" Arthur starts, before he shakes his head and starts over. "Could you tell him I said hello? And that I hope he's okay."

"I don't think that's a good idea." Vash admits quietly, shaking his head slightly. "If you want to talk to him, go and do it yourself. If I say it, he'll think I'm just telling him what he wants to hear."

"Are you sure? I mean, that hardly sounds like a good idea."

"Trust me, for once. Alright?" Vash replies, digging in the pocket of his jeans for something. He produces his keys after a few minutes and detaches one to give to Arthur. "That's the apartment key. Bring me it back, I do need it to get home."

"Are you sure? I mean-"

"Yes, I'm sure. I know he won't let you in, so you'll need something to get in  _with_ , and it'll stop you from trying to break down our door."

"Right. Er, should I tell Alfred?"

"That you're going to see your ex-boyfriend who's definitely still in love with you? Yeah, like that's going to end well. Lie; tell him you're going to get more wine or something."

"I'm not sure I should lie to him like that."

"So you'd rather risk getting into an argument with him in front of everyone?"

"Fair enough, I suppose you're right." Arthur agrees, deflating slightly. "I'll go tell him."

He moves into the sitting room, where Alfred is sprawled over the sofa with a beer in his hand, engaged in a happy conversation about geography with Feliciano. Ludwig is sitting on the opposite sofa, surveying the huge bookcase beside him. Vash follows behind Arthur, taking a seat next to Ludwig and quickly engaging the German in a conversation about European literature. Arthur has to hold back a laugh.

"Hey, Alfie, I'm just going to go to the shop and get more drinks, yeah? I shouldn't be too long."

"Oh, okay." Alfred smiles up at him, blue eyes bright behind his glasses. "I'll see you soon, then?"

"Yeah." Arthur straightens himself up to leave, and Alfred pouts at him. "What?"

"Don't I get a goodbye kiss?"

Arthur sighs affectionately, bends back down to press a soft kiss to his lips, and Alfred grins.

"Be safe, okay?"

"Okay." Arthur turns to leave, but looks at Vash before he does and the younger man gives him a pointed look. Arthur nods sharply and leaves the room.

He fumbles his way through the cold and the wind across the three or four blocks to the apartment block where Francis and Vash live. He considers cursing the horrible weather, but then remembers  _hang on a second, I'm English, I've lived through summers that were colder than this_  and tugs his jacket closer over his chest.

He knocks first, when he reaches the apartment door with  _137: Bonnefoy / Zwingli_  written on the mailbox next it and frowns when no one answers him. He waits for a moment before he digs through his jacket pocket for the key. He unlocks the door and steps into their foyer, and if he didn't know who lived there already he'd be able to tell now. There's a dresser covered in framed photographs, of everything from a smiling blonde couple he assumes must be Vash's parents, to a bigger photograph of the two of them playing together in the snow when they were children, and even one of Lilli and Marianne together. He smiles weakly and steps towards the dresser when he spots the two photographs in a hinged frame. The first is of him and Francis outside Sacré-Cœur Basilica in Montmartre –Francis had made him go on one of their trips to Paris, and it had been snowing all day and the only good thing about it was Francis holding his hand as they walked up all the stairs to the top– and the other is of the both of them at the top of the Eiffel Tower. Arthur remembers that he hadn't really wanted to go, but Francis had insisted, and dragged him to the top anyway. He'd stopped him, grabbed him by the waist and pulled out his camera –Arthur had thought he was going to photograph the view, but he turned the camera on both of them and kissed him on the cheek as he took the photo. Arthur blushes and sighs at the memory, turning and spotting the flags on the wall to his left.

There's a few, overlapping each other and corners falling limply away from the wallpaper, but Arthur mainly notices the red and white cross of the Swiss flag hanging beside the horizontal stripes of the Austrian flag. He holds back a smile, because only Vash would attempt to show affection by hanging their flags together. The French tricolour hangs proudly beside the Union Jack, though, and Arthur wonders absently if Francis put it there for a reason. There are a few other flags that he doesn't really recognize, too, as if they're chronicling something with them, and Arthur's mouth quirks into a lazy smile.

"Vash, are you home already?" Francis shouts, accent thick –probably due to drinking a little too much, Arthur thinks.

The Frenchman stumbles around the corner into the hallway and is clearly confused to see Arthur there, blue eyes wide and fingers almost slipping from the stem of the wine glass he's holding.

"Arthur." Francis says curtly after they've stared at each other for a long few minutes. "What are you doing here?"

"Er, Vash gave me a key to get in. He said you weren't feeling too great."

"Did he?" Francis doesn't look even remotely shocked at this development, frowning at the wine glass in his hand before he turns back to the other man. "I can't imagine where he would have got that idea from."

"Francis," Arthur sighs, his shoulders dropping as their eyes lock, "don't be like this."

"Don't be like what?" Francis snaps, his eyes turning harsh. "Don't be  _myself_ , is that what you're saying? Don't act like seeing you hurts? What happened, did Alfred lose interest already?"

" _Francis_." Arthur stays sternly, squaring his shoulders and glowering at the other man; Francis leans against the doorframe and fixes him with a withering look. "Please, don't."

"Please don't  _what_?" Francis spits, blue eyes narrowing as he leans forward slightly. "I'm not letting you do this to me. You have no right to be here."

"I'm not doing anything to you! I just wanted to see if you were okay."

"If you were that bothered about 'seeing if I was okay' then you wouldn't be parading your new boyfriend around in front of me, would you?" Francis is suddenly shouting, body straightening up as he steps towards the younger man. "You're not going to get a rise from me, Arthur. It's not even worth trying!"

"Francis, please."

"Don't you  _dare_ 'Francis, please' me, you bastard! Isn't it obvious that I am in no way over you? I'm not ready to speak to you and  _not_ want to punch you in the face!"

"Francis-"

"Shut up!" Francis snaps, staring at Arthur desperately with wet eyes and shaking hands. "I'd like you to leave."

"I'm not leaving you alone like this." Arthur replies defiantly, folding his arms over his chest.

"Get out!" Francis is crying now, tears finally falling down flushed cheeks as he bustles towards Arthur and pushes him out of the door. "Get out of my home and get out of my life!"

He finally gets both of Arthur's feet into the hallway and slams the door in his face. He's turned the key in the lock before Arthur can even reach for the handle.

Francis exhales heavily, leaning against the door and pinching his nose like it will help calm him down. He slumps, sliding down the door a little as he closes his eyes.

Arthur has just turned away from the door when he hears Francis finally start to sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Demitri = Cyprus  
> Garcia = TRNC  
> Marianne = Monaco


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> say hello to a sarcastic Norwegian and his tall-and-stupid boyfriend. aka a brief-ish appearance by more Nordics.

"I can't believe you gave him a key." Francis grumbles the next morning, nursing a steaming mug of tea and a severe hangover. He's bundled up on the sofa, wrapped in blankets and pyjamas.

"Oh, so you  _are_  talking to me now? That's good to know." Vash replies with a roll of his eyes as he settles next to him.

"That silent treatment was entirely deserved." Francis huffs, tugging the blankets tighter over his chest.

"I was speaking to him, actually. I told him about the whole thing with Roderich."

"Why would you trust him with something like that?"

"Are you two finished?" Lilli's voice –and her soft little laugh– crackles over the laptop in front of them, and Antonio laughs loudly behind them.

"Yes." Vash sighs, cocking his head at his sister when he spots the boy sitting next to her that looks vaguely familiar. "And who might you be?"

The boy looks at him, fixes him with an almost intimidating stern look before he stares sideways at Lilli. His hair is a pale, almost white blonde and it flicks and curls up in strange places, and there's a section held back from his face with a small cross-shaped hairpin. His eyes are bright, but his expression is anything but.

"I'm Lukas. Erik is my younger brother. I think we used to be in a few classes together in high school. I believe were on the ice hockey team together." He explains briefly, sentences clipped and in a thick, Nordic-sounding accent. "I don't plan on being here for long; only until Erik returns from helping our mother and Gunnar. Then I'm leaving –Matthias is probably already waiting for me."

"Great." Francis deadpans. "Now can we please get on? I'd like to have some spare time to wallow in self-pity."

"Well, going on what Lilli told me –and I assume she was relatively brief in order to preserve my sanity– I'm not entirely sure why you don't just tell him." Lukas says, twisting a curl of his hair between his fingers. "Given the circumstances, I must say I'm completely confused. Lilli said he doesn't even know you're gay?"

"I'm not gay!" Vash retorts indignantly, folding his arms across his chest. Antonio laughs at him again.

"But you're attracted to men?" Lukas replies, looking thoroughly bored by this whole development.

"Well, yes, I suppose. I'm mainly attracted to  _him_ , to be honest."

"Wonderful. Now how do you plan on telling him this?"

"I don't." Vash replies quickly. "He's getting married; he doesn't need or want to know."

"But this is hurting you, amigo." Antonio commiserates, leaning forwards to drape himself over Vash's shoulders. "It's not good for you."

"It doesn't matter though, does it?" Vash snaps at Antonio, turning to face him. "I'm used to it."

"That's not the point." Francis mutters. "I know that being used to pain doesn't make it feel any better."

Lukas sighs, his voice breaking over the weak connection. He reaches down for something in his lap and produces a dark blue beret, arranging it carefully over his hair. He frowns at himself in the camera's lens and Francis frowns back at him.

"I'm not entirely sure what you expect me to be able to help with here, Lilli." Lukas turns to the girl next to him and raises a groomed eyebrow at her. "Considering I haven't seen Vash in years and I barely remember Roderich from high school, I don't know how I'm expected to provide any kind of insight into this situation. Last I remember Roderich was seeing that irritating, loudmouth German that must have been at least a foot taller than him, and Vash was mooning over him like some lost puppy."

"Hey, I was not." Vash huffs, glowering at the other man through the lens.

"Sweetheart, you're still doing it now. You clearly think the sun shines out of his... Posterior." Francis says with a weak, airy laugh, and Antonio covers his mouth and laughs quietly with him.

"God, I hate everyone."

"I just thought you might be able to help, you're in a relationship with your best friend who you'd liked for years and never said anything to, how did you do it?" Lilli asks Lukas, cocking her head at the older man in confusion.

" _I_ didn't do anything. Matthias cornered me the day before I flew out to Norway for university and asked if I wanted to go out some time. When I explained that I was leaving for three years he dropped everything and said that he'd come with me. When we were on the flight to Oslo he told me he loved me. I didn't do anything except laugh and tell him I loved him too."

"Delightful." Vash deadpans, his voice toneless as he stares, bored, into the camera. "Now, if you don't mind, I have an essay to write."

"I have an essay to write in  _Norwegian_." Lukas retorts, fixing him with a steely –if slightly pixelated– glare. "Now shut up and let us help."

"Lukas?" A voice rises from outside the door. "Can we go?"

"Get out of my way, Matt." Erik's voice starts, and there's a thud and the door opens. He enters the room, puffin letterman in tow, and holds the door for someone behind him. A tall blonde follows after him, dark trench coat down to his knees, red cuffs rolled back over his sleeves.

"Well, it was nice to see you." Lukas nods curtly as he stands, moving over to Matthias, who grins and hugs his arms around his shoulders. "Good luck with Roderich."

"Thanks, I think."

Matthias grins at them all and ushers him out of the room. Lilli looks after him for a second before she turns back to her brother.

"Well, that didn't work." Antonio laughs playfully, slipping down on to the sofa to Vash's other side.

"As if you thought it would." Francis scoffs, curling a hand around his mug of tea and pushing his wavy bangs behind one ear.

"It was worth a shot." Lilli comments with a small shrug. "I thought he could help."

Vash is about to snap out a sarcastic comment when there's sudden, heavy knocking on their door.

"It's open!" Vash yells, and whoever it is fumbles with the door handle before they come thundering through the hall into the living room.

It's Roderich, hair a mess and eyes wild behind his glasses, fingers sliding through the front of his bangs.

"Someone help!"

"Who did you kill?" Vash sighs exasperatedly. Lilli and Francis share a pointed look.

"It's not like that! I need a suit for the wedding and I don't know where to start!" Roderich practically shouts, fumbling over his own feet as he moves into the centre of the room.

"Fine." Vash gets to his feet and straightens his jeans out, moving from between Francis and Antonio to go into the hallway. "Let me get my shoes on; I know somewhere we can start looking."

"Great!" Roderich replies exuberantly, following his best friend out into the hall. "I'm glad you're going to help, I have no idea where to look or anything."

They mutter to each other for a few moments, and Francis and Antonio wait until they hear the soft click of the front door closing before they curse after him in a variety of languages.

"He's such an idiot." Antonio sighs, shaking his head. "He just doesn't listen. To any of us."

"When has he  _ever_  listened?" Francis quips.

"I think he's just scared. Or nervous. I don't think he knows how he's supposed to feel at the minute." Lilli confesses, looking up at the both of them. Erik looks up in the background of the shot and nods in agreement.

"So you just need a suit, right?" Vash says as he slams the door of his car closed and looks up at the pink and white sign of the wedding store he'd visited with Elizabeta earlier in the month.

"Yeah, and a tie of some kind. She didn't specify."

"Well, that shouldn't be too difficult. I hope." Vash pushes open the door and makes to turn towards the suits, but a hand taps him on the shoulder. It's Michelle, the cheery girl from before, her hair still tied back in loose, ribbon ties.

"Hey! You're the best man from the other week, right? With the young girl and the happy brunette?"

"Er, yeah. This is the groom." He gestures quickly at Roderich, who goes a little pink and waves briskly with a free hand. "He needs a suit. Any suggestions?"

"Hm." Michelle frowns at Roderich for a second before she steps towards him, grasping him by the shoulders and sizing him up, walking around him as she gets a feel for what to dress him in.

"I'd suggest a three-piece suit, maybe in a dark colour –but not black, that's going to be too harsh since you're so pale– but a bright bowtie to offset it. Your future wife seemed to like bright colours, if I remember right."

"Yeah, she does." Roderich smiles fondly, looking down at his shoes. Vash rolls his eyes at him and sighs barely audibly.

"I'll be back in a second." Michelle grins, patting the top of his shoulders before she disappears around the corner into a rack of suits.

Roderich stares at Vash like he's dragged him into some kind of den of horror (or something equally as terrifying) and Vash looks back at him and laughs dryly, moving closer to him to nudge him with his elbow.

Michelle reappears not to long after, with two suit bags in her hands.

"Here, try these." She smiles, big and curving up to her eyes. "You might need some help with those waistcoats, though. They can be a pain."

Roderich nods stiffly, like he's suddenly nervous, and practically freezes on the spot until Vash pushes at his back and ushers him towards the changing rooms.

Vash lurks outside as he listens to his best friend fumbling around behind the curtain, the odd cuss leaking out over the top.

"Vash." Roderich whines after at least five minutes of struggling. "Can you help?"

"What have you done?" Vash sighs. Roderich wrenches back the curtain and glowers at him, the bottom of his shirt sticking out from his slacks and waistcoat hanging open, bowtie untied around his neck.

"You are  _useless_." Vash laughs, stepping into the room to reach up and fasten his tie. Roderich pouts and forces the front of his shirt into his pants.

"I am not." He huffs, watching Vash's delicate fingers puff out his tie. He fumbles over his waistcoat buttons and fastening them quickly.

"Now, was that so hard?" Vash laughs quietly, turning him around to face the mirror. "You look good."

"Thanks." Roderich smiles, looking at Vash through his reflection. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot." Vash says, looking up at Roderich through a few strands of his hair.

"Do you think we're rushing things? Getting married so soon, I mean."

"What makes you say that?" Vash asks with a small frown, because as much as he loves Roderich, he'd prefer him to be happily married over dating him and miserable.

"I don't know, I mean I know it sounds stupid, but we're just so  _young_ , really. We're not even out of college. We can barely even afford the rent some months, let alone this massive, amazing wedding ceremony that she wants. It just seems like we're rushing because we can, and we feel like we need to."

"Well." Vash starts, then hesitates quickly to rearrange his bangs and swallow to try and remove the thick lump in his throat. "Do you love her?"

"Of course I do." Roderich replies, barely even letting him finish his sentence before he answers him. His voice is quick, almost snappy, but there's conviction and he sounds so _sure_ of himself and Vash thinks his heart about breaks right then.

"Well, if it's-" Vash tries to speak, but has to swallow again because it's suddenly hard for him to talk. "If it's love then it shouldn't matter. It can't be wrong if you're as sure of it as you obviously are."

Roderich smiles, small at first, but bigger after a few beats of silence.

"I guess you're right. Thanks." Roderich says after a few moments, affirming his words with a small, quick nod. "Do you like this one, then?"

"Yeah." Vash says quietly, nodding at him. "Yeah, it looks good."

"Oh, sorry, am I interrupting something?" Michelle's voice rises from the other end of the corridor of suits and dresses, and the two of them step away from each other quickly. Vash finds himself pressed against the side wall and excuses himself with a raise of his hands and steps out of the room.

"No, sorry. We just got talking." Roderich admits sheepishly, running his fingers through the back of his hair.

"Oh it's fine, don't worry. You look fabulous!" She grins exuberantly, moving towards him and pulling him out of the room by his shoulders. "Don't you think?"

"I do like it." Roderich admits, playing absently with the dark blue tie around his neck. "I think I could wear this."

"Great!" Michelle smiles, clapping her hands together. "I'll get everything arranged for you."

She disappears again, behind more dresses to the register.

"I'll wait outside." Vash announces, nodding briefly and disappearing through the glass doors to the road. He leans against the window outside for a few long minutes, eyes closed and breathing heavy, until Roderich finally emerges and taps him on the shoulder.

"Thanks for doing this." Roderich smiles as he collapses into the passenger seat having bundled his suit into the trunk.

"No problem." Vash smiles weakly, trying to convince himself that this doesn't hurt. "Now, we're getting coffee."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lukas is Norway and Matthias is Denmark, if that wasn't obvious.  
> some of Lukas' lines will be explained better in one of the 'Social Experiments' side-stories that I'm planning. uwu
> 
> also, brief, subtle-ish appearance of a headcanon of mine again: Lukas/Norway and Vash/Switzerland are about the same age (in terms of 'human' age if they're countries).


	13. Chapter 13

They're sitting in the Starbucks where Vash works –the blonde is pleased to note that Anton has managed to get himself in on time, since he's just spotted Berwald leaving with Tino– cradling steaming mugs of cappuccino and latte.

"So, do you think that Francis could help us work out what to do while we're in Paris?" Roderich asks, leaning forward in his seat to flick through the tourist guide to France that's sitting on the table in front of him.

"I should hope so. He lived there for eighteen years, for Christ's sake." Vash rolls his eyes at the other man and takes a sip of his coffee. "He'll probably complain at you for doing such stereotypical tourist things, though. I assume you  _are_ planning to do 'the classics'?"

"What?"

"You know, the things  _everyone_ does when they go to Paris. The Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame, Montmartre, you know what I mean. I think Francis must have been to the top of that stupid thing at least five times in as many years. He made me go with him when I was about fourteen because no one else would come with him. It was a pretty horrifying experience, to be honest."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad." Roderich laughs, and Vash just stares back at him blankly.

"Oh, it was." Vash is about to launch into the full story of his terrible experience with the elevators in that damn tower when his cell phone vibrates in his pocket. He extricates it from his jeans and frowns at the screen; it's a text from Antonio.

_You can't keep hurting yourself like this._

He scowls at his phone, shakes his head briefly before forcing it back into his pocket.

"What was that about?" Roderich cocks his head a little, his thin eyebrows knitting together.

"It was just Antonio. He wanted to know when I'd be home." Vash lies smoothly, almost surprising himself with how good at it he's gotten.

"Oh, okay." Roderich relaxes and smiles at him, broad and genuinely happy, taking a firm hold of his mug and drinking from it. "So, do you think if I corner Francis he'd help?"

"Yes, but don't ask him today. He's hungover and in a bad mood, he had an argument with Arthur last night. And I'll warn you now, asking him about romantic things to do in Paris  _will_ probably lead to him crying on you. He went there a lot when he was still with Arthur, and I'd hazard a guess that he hasn't been thinking about it much so he doesn't start crying randomly. But if you're talking to him about it, then it might trigger something in his crazy post-breakup mind."

"Really?" Roderich sounds concerning, frowning into his coffee. "Is he that bad?"

"Yes, but I hardly expected him to be all 'sunshine and daises' anyway. He's been better than I thought, to be honest. Not exactly brilliant, but okay. He's stopped crying every other hour, at the very least."

"That's good." Roderich muses absently, drinking a long gulp of coffee. Vash finishes the dregs of his coffee and puts the mug down as his cell phone vibrates again.

"I think I'd better go. I'll ask Francis about helping you plan." Vash says, tugging his phone from his pocket and discovering a message from Francis.

_This isn't good for you, mon ami. It's unhealthy._

He swallows thickly, turns to see Roderich moving to stand too, and his friend fixes him with a weird look.

"I'll drop you off, if you want." Vash offers offhandedly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"Yeah, okay." Roderich smiles lopsidedly, pushes his glasses up his nose and follows Vash to his car.

Vash pulls up outside Roderich's apartment block about ten minutes later, and Roderich hugs him loosely with an arm around his neck and Vash realizes that he still smells really good –like chocolate and expensive cologne and something that he can't place but that is so  _Roderich_ that it almost makes him forget that he'll never have him. Almost.

Roderich waves him off from the sidewalk and Vash drives the few streets to his own apartment, pulling up into a parking spot and breathing in slowly and deeply. He rearranges his short bangs after a few minutes, before he finally clambers out of the car and moves towards the apartment block.

He pushes open the door and removes his jacket, hanging it up carefully before he steps into the living room. He's met with a collection of glares; Francis has his arms folded across his chest, Antonio's usually bright green eyes are narrowed and almost angry, and Lilli and Erik are glowering at him through the camera on his laptop. Francis' cell phone is resting on the table, screen lit up and telling him that Arthur is on speakerphone.

"What's going on?" He asks, confused, looking between all of them.

"Vash." Francis speaks first, voice unusually stern, lilting in that stereotypically thick French accent of his. "We're not going to let you do this to yourself anymore."

"It's not healthy!" Lilli protests through the tinny speakers of the computer, glaring at him "I'm worried about you, big brother. We all are."

She looks like she's close to tears, jade green eyes brimming. Erik looks sideways at her and reaches out an arm to wrap around her tiny shoulders. Vash instinctively narrows his eyes at the teenager.

"Look, Vash, you might not see it or believe it, but we're doing this because we care about you, you complete knob." Arthur's voice crackles and pops over the phone line. "We're not out to get you. We know it hurts and we know it probably feels like shite but it does get better."

"You don't get it." Vash mumbles, looking down at his shoes and studying the carpet. "None of you do."

"There's nothing to get!" Arthur practically hollers. "Just drag your head out of your arse and see that this isn't good!"

Vash glares at the phone, like Arthur will somehow be able to tell, and stuffs his hands into his pockets. He clenches his fists absently.

"Look, I know you're probably not going to listen to a word I say, but for god's sake, Vash, you need to get over him. He's getting  _married_. Bloody hell."

"You don't get it." Vash repeats himself, louder and angrier this time. "It's hard, alright? You don't just wake up one morning, suddenly miraculously over someone and  _not_ loving them more than you love yourself. That's not how it works! I can't just stop feeling this way because you're telling me to. That's not how love functions, no matter how unrequited it is."

"Vash, we're just worried about you, that's all." Francis interjects quietly, unfolding his arms and running his fingers through his hair. "We're not trying to upset you, we just want to make sure you're okay, especially with the wedding."

"I'm fine!" Vash snaps, and it's so clearly a lie that even Erik cocks his head. "And even if I wasn't, I wouldn't be explaining myself to you because none of you know how this feels! None of you have any  _idea_  how much this sucks, and how hard it is to watch the person you've loved for half of your fucking life sign themselves off to someone else! You have no idea!"

The blonde breathes, heavy and shoulders heaving, and closes his eyes.

"I hope none of you ever have to feel this way, actually. Because it hurts, and no matter what happens it feels like everything could crash down around you at any second. It's awful."

"Vash." Francis says, soft and stern all at once. "You know I understand how you feel. I've told you."

"It's –it's not that same for you, though, is it? You're trying. I'm not even sure I want to."

"I'm not trying that hard." Francis laughs, and his voice is wetter than he'd expected, and he swallows to try and hide it.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asks, and he sounds so confused that Vash almost takes pity on him and blurts it out, but a steady glare from Francis stops him.

"Nothing." Francis interjects, voice stronger than before like he's trying to convince himself as much as he is Arthur.

"Really? Because it sounded a hell of a lot like you were telling Vash that you know how he feels? That you're in love with someone who doesn't love you back."

"And what does it matter if I do? And if I  _am_  in love with someone –which I'm not, for the record- why on earth should it matter to you?" Francis asks incredulously, folding his arms again. "You're the one who left me for that  _bâtard_!"

Vash stares at his roommate, because Francis hasn't got mad or sad enough to accidentally revert back to speaking French lately.

"Why does my relationship bother you so much?" Arthur retorts. "You seemed perfectly okay when you moved out!"

"In what way is shouting at you that I  _hated_ you 'okay'? Even by your standards, that should point to something! I know you hardly understand how people work, but surely I didn't have to announce 'I am not okay with this' for you to get it!"

"Then why didn't you say something?" Arthur snaps, his voice rising in anger. Vash figures he's probably pacing around the apartment as he talks.

"You don't think I tried? I couldn't even look at you!" Francis shouts back, his voice cracking as his bright eyes finally fill with tears. "After five years you leave me for some _child_ with an English degree and an irritating New York accent! What am I supposed to say to that?"

"Don't talk about him like that!"

"I'll talk about him however I want." Francis hisses. "Because I don't know if you've noticed, _Arthur_ , but I still love you! And whether you feel the same or not, I'd like for you to extend me the courtesy of leaving me alone until I can try and get over you, no matter how long it takes! Or if I ever do at all!"

"You're not doing this to me, Francis."

"I'm not doing anything!"

"You called me!"

"I needed your help! I thought you'd at least have the decency to care about our friends, Arthur!"

"I  _do_ care, you dick. Just because you're too dense to see past your blind sadness doesn't mean I don't care."

"Just –just shut up! You don't understand, Arthur." Francis pinches the bridge of his nose. "I thought you cared enough to see past the fact that we're –that we're over, and that you'd still look out for our friends. I thought you were a better person than that."

"I  _am_ a better person than that. You know that."

"Do I?"

"Francis." Arthur snaps, and his glare is almost palpable over the phone line. "I'm not having this conversation with you now."

"Fine, then we won't have this conversation at all! Why do I bother with you?"

There's a beat of silence, and Arthur exhales heavily.

"We could still be friends, you know."

"Like I could cope with that." Francis scoffs, and leans to hang up the phone. There's a mechanical beep as the call is dropped. Francis stares blankly at the wall in front of him for a long minute or two before he finally succumbs and closes his eyes, shoulders deflating as a soft sob escapes.

Vash looks at him for a second, before he looks quickly to Lilli and then Antonio, both of whom nod at him. He slides down into the seat next to the Frenchman, offers him his shoulder and waits. Francis looks up at him, usually bright blue eyes wet and sad, and Vash smiles weakly and lopsided. The other blonde deflates against his arm, burying his face in his neck and starting to cry in earnest. Antonio moves to his other side after a few minutes of watching Vash stroke his back, wrapping a loose arm around his friend's waist. Lilli watches the three of them desperately through her camera.

"I'm sorry, Francis." She says quietly, hanging her head. Erik reaches out and curls an arm around her waist, and she leans in to him instinctively.

"I told you he was an asshole." Vash comments, but there's not even a hint of smugness in his voice. Francis nods into his shoulder, and his tears drip on to Vash's shirt.

Antonio stays silent, tightening his grip on his friend's waist and leaning in to him, resting up against him in a strange gesture of support. Francis presses back into him a little, and Antonio reaches up to card his fingers through his wavy, messy hair. The blonde sobs weakly.

"Sorry, amigo." The Spaniard mumbles into Francis' hair, voice low and barely even audible. "But you deserve better than him. Someone who cares enough not to mess you around like this. Even I can see that and I barely know the asshole."

"Don't call him that." Francis mutters in retaliation, face buried in Vash's neck. "He's not an asshole, he's –he's..."

"Don't defend him." Erik says through the laptop speakers. He sounds oddly indignant for someone who wasn't involved in this debacle until two hours earlier. "I don't think I've ever met him, but it doesn't sound like he treats you very well. I mean, I'm fourteen and I don't know either of you so you don't even have to listen to me, but he doesn't seem to care about you at all. You said you were together for five years, right?"

Francis nods against Vash's throat.

"Well, I'd think that after five years he'd still care at least a little about you, and it's obvious that he feels nothing." Erik explains quietly, bright eyes focused on Francis. "But if he does feel anything, I don't think it's anything romantic. Or, it doesn't look like it is. I know it sounds awful, but I don't think he loves you."

"I knew that already." Francis groans half-heartedly, looking up to meet Erik's fierce gaze. "I didn't need reminding, thanks."

"Sorry." Erik replies, apologetic as his runs his fingers through the short, white blonde hair at the back of his neck. "But I think –I think the only way that you're going to keep it in your head so you can try and get over him is by constantly thinking it."

Francis looks at him for a long, tense moment, before he nods weakly. He pulls himself up and away from Vash, and Antonio sits up properly on his other side. He looks like he's steeling himself, breathing slow and careful. He looks between the two of them, before he turns back to face Erik. They stare at each other for a long moment before Francis opens his mouth and exhales heavily. His voice is shaky, hesitant and almost reluctant as he talks.

"Arthur Kirkland doesn't love me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'bâtard' is French for bastard, if it wasn't immediately obvious, since it's basically structured the same. I don't know if it's in the right form, but since Francis is angry/upset and flitting between English and French he probably either wouldn't notice or wouldn't care if he did.


	14. Chapter 14

Francis repeats this to himself, like it's some sort of weird, depressing mantra, and Erik nods in encouragement. Vash watches him for a long few minutes, before he pulls himself to his feet and moves towards the kitchen.

"I'm going to make tea." He announces. "Does anyone want anything?"

Francis nods, and Antonio pulls himself up to stand next to him.

"I'll go with you."

"I'm perfectly capable of boiling water on my own, thanks."

"That's not what I meant." The Spaniard groans and grabs him by the arm, fingers tight around his bicep. "Come on."

Vash follows him through the hallway and the dining room into their tiny kitchen, and Antonio finally releases him when he tries to busy himself with filling the kettle.

"What did you want?" He asks, tucking his hair behind his ear as he sets the kettle down on its stand and flicks the switch.

"Are you really okay?" Antonio asks, his green eyes fiery as he looks Vash up and down firmly. "Because if you aren't, you're a very good actor."

"I think I'm fine." Vash nods, reaching up into the cupboard for three mugs. "I don't feel as bad as I used to, in any case."

"I was just wondering, what with the wedding and everything." Antonio admits with a small smile. "I didn't expect you to be as okay as you are."

Vash smiles loosely, fumbling through the cupboards for teabags and dropping one in each of the three mugs on the counter.

"I don't know if I'd say I'm okay, but I'm not awful." Vash replies with a small, barely there shrug. "I've just resigned myself to the inevitable, that's all."

"The inevitable?"

"Yes." Vash nods, almost resolutely as he watches the kettle boil in front of him. "I mean the inevitable fact that he's getting married and he'll  _finally_ be totally out of reach no matter how hard I try. I'd thought it might make things easier, knowing that he'll never look at me like that. But I'm beginning to think it might just make things worse."

"What? Why?"

"Well, I'd thought that if I knew he'd never be interested in me, it might make it a little easier for me to get over him. Thinking about it, it might just make things ten times worse; since I've been helping him to organize everything it only seems to have made me feel more for him, and I'm not sure I understand why. I just keep thinking that it should be me he's spending his time with, me he's thinking about marrying, and me he's going on some stupid romantic holiday to France with."

Vash huffs, reaching for the kettle and pouring the boiling water into each of the mugs. He breathes heavily, stirring the water absently.

"Hey, it'll be okay." Antonio says brightly, hugging Vash lightly around the waist with one sturdy arm. "I'll think of something."

"I don't need help, really." Vash replies, a little harsher than he means to. "It's not like I can make the feelings just stop, or anything. I'll just have to cope with them and hope that they start to go away after a while. Once he's finally married and is off in Europe with his wife then I think I might be able to try and stop loving him."

"You don't need to rush it, you know." Antonio says, releasing him and handing him the bag of sugar that sits on the counter. "It might help you to start, though, once you know he's definitely happy with Elizabeta."

"I know he's happy  _now_." Vash sighs, spooning sugar in to two of the mugs and stirring. "It doesn't make it any easier, though. It still sucks."

"Maybe you should get away for a while." Antonio suggests, stepping back as the shorter man fumbles around the kitchen in search of something. He reaches inside another cupboard and pulls out a large, shaped bottle of honey. He flips open the lid and turns it upside down, squeezing a fair amount into the third mug. When Vash catches the look of confusion on his face, he rolls his eyes.

"Francis takes honey in his tea, not sugar. He's French." Vash almost laughs, dry and like his voice is cracking. He closes the honey bottle and sets it back in the cupboard. "How many sugars do you want?"

He holds out the spoon to Antonio, who takes it and adds a spoonful of sugar to his mug. Vash takes it back from him and puts two spoonfuls into his own mug. He stirs the mugs in quick succession before he begins fishing the teabags out.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Antonio asks as Vash slides past him on the kitchen tiles to the refrigerator to grab the carton of milk. "You can be honest with me, you know."

"I am being honest with you." Vash snaps, but looks remorseful when he closes his mouth. He busies himself with pouring milk into each of the mugs before he stirs them quickly. "I've got no reason not to be."

"I know you're getting used to hiding yourself, Vash." Antonio says, taking the mug Vash offers him and staring the blonde down. "You don't have to; we know how you feel, and we know that you have emotions somewhere; just because you don't often show them doesn't mean they don't exist. I think you need to realize that yourself."

"I do." Vash replies, picking up his own mug of tea and taking a quick drink. "It's not that I don't realize I'm hiding my emotions or whatever you want to call it; I know I am, I'm just not especially willing to shout it out that I'm in love with a soon to be married man."

Antonio sips thoughtfully at his tea before setting it down on the counter.

"Who actually knows about this?"

"Besides you, Francis and Lilli? Arthur, Feliciano and apparently Lukas and Erik. I'm assuming Lilli probably told them. I don't really mind, though, it's not like they'll say anything, and most of them are nice enough people not to use it as blackmail."

"Can I ask you something?" Antonio says after a few beats of silence. Vash raises an eyebrow at him, nods carefully and takes another sip of his tea. "How do you know you love him?"

"I don't." The blonde shrugs, setting his mug down on the counter beside him. "It just feels like I am. I've never been interested in anyone else to know how it feels, nor have I ever been in any kind of relationship to compare it to."

"Really?" Antonio replies, taken aback as he stares at the smaller man. "You've never been with anyone?"

"No." Vash replies, shaking his head slightly, his hair falling from behind his ear to swipe against his cheek. "I've never wanted to. Well, I've never wanted anyone besides him for as long as I can remember."

"Really? So you've never-"

"Had sex?" Vash interjects, staring at him with an almost distressed look in his eyes. He flushes bright pink across the tops of his cheeks. "Er, no, I haven't. I've never even..."

He hesitates, frowning a little as pale, groomed eyebrows knit together.

"You won't tell anyone, right?" He says after a few moments, looking Antonio up and down. The other man nods, reaching out for his tea to take a drink.

"I've never actually kissed anyone, either." Vash admits quietly, looking down at the floor to avoid Antonio's shocked stare. "I've never found occasion, before you ask."

"I wasn't going to ask." Antonio steps towards him a little, cocking his head at the smaller blonde. "You want it to be Roderich, don't you?"

"I suppose." Vash confesses, running his fingers absently through the hair at the back of his head. "It's unlikely now, I realize, but I think I'm still hoping, for some reason."

"Maybe it'll be okay once he gets married. The wedding's three days away now, isn't it? Maybe it'll be easier then; you could start looking for someone else."

"Who, though?" Vash laughs half-heartedly, picking up his mug and Francis' before ushering Antonio into the living room.

"I don't know." Antonio laughs airily and shrugs, stepping in to the sitting room and slumping into the seat beside Francis. The Frenchman looks between the two of them and shakes his head in disdain, taking the mug Vash holds out to him as he sits down.

"Do I want to know what you two are talking about?" He asks, and when the two of them shake their heads at him he laughs, raising his mug to his lips to take a long drink.

"I think we'd better go, Erik." Lilli says, smiling at the three of them. "We have homework to do for Geography class tomorrow. It was nice to speak to you all."

"Yeah, you too, Lilli." Vash looks at his sister and smiles a little, raising a hand to wave. "Love you."

"Love you too." She smiles at him and leans to hang up the video call. "I'll see you for the wedding."

She hangs up, and all three of the men relax into the sofa.

"You do realize we should probably start preparing for the wedding soon, oui?" Francis asks after a minute or two of comfortable silence. "And the bachelor party. I refuse to let you go out in that hideous sweater like I know you want to."

"How could you tell?" Vash smirks into his mug, and Francis hits him playfully around the shoulder.

Two days later, it's the night of the bachelor party and Francis is running around like some kind of mental patient trying to make sure everyone looks at least vaguely presentable. Vash himself has been forced into a fitted black plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the stone washed jeans Francis had made him buy a few months ago. He's had to tuck the bottoms into his boots because they're far too long even though he was made to try them on in the store.

Everyone else has been arriving in spurts throughout the course of the night; Antonio, Lovino, Feliciano and Ludwig were first, and Antonio disappeared not too long after to help Francis with his hair. Lovino and Ludwig are lurking by the stairs involved in some kind of glaring contest and Feliciano is bouncing around the apartment like a lunatic.

Gilbert and Matthew had arrived not too long after they had, and Gilbert had immediately taken to pouring out shots of whiskey, brandy and a variety of liquors upon request. Matthew had busied himself with following his boyfriend around and cleaning up his messes.

Kiku and Heracles have just arrived, and are engaged in a lazy conversation about Kiku's day at work teaching some ridiculous child in one of his kendo classes. Vash is about to join in when the doorbell rings. He grabs the intercom phone and presses it to his ear. He's barely opened his mouth to say 'who is it' when someone is shouting down the mouthpiece at him.

"Hey, it's Alfred! Let us in."

"You blithering idiot, you could just  _talk_  at a normal volume!"

Vash sighs, hangs up the phone at the sound of them arguing and presses the button to let them up.

He regrets it immediately when they come barging in to the front foyer bickering about Alfred's manners and Arthur's grumpiness, and Francis walks into the room to speak to him at  _exactly_ the wrong moment and comes face to face with the two of them.

He stops short, stares blankly at Arthur, then at Alfred, then at their linked hands, before glaring back at Arthur again. The Englishman glares right back, and they hold each other's angry, unyielding scowls before Francis makes a huffing noise in the back of his throat, tucks his hair behind his ear and stalks away into the hallway.

"Wow." Alfred laughs obliviously, pushing his glasses up his nose. "That was weird."

Vash raises his eyebrows at the American, eyes wide with sheer disbelief. Arthur looks between him and Alfred, and presses his hand against his forehead in despair.

"Are we just waiting on Roderich?" Antonio pops his head into the foyer to ask, a wide grin plastered on his face.

"Yes, I think so." Vash replies. "You'll have to check with Francis. Everyone else is meeting us there."

"Okay, great." Antonio grins bigger, practically reaching his ears, and disappears back into the sitting room. Alfred drags Arthur after him into the main area of the apartment, and Vash rolls his eyes after him.

"Are Francis and Arthur arguing again?" Kiku asks him from where he's leaning against Heracles a few feet away. He'd apparently been watching the whole thing.

"Yes. They had a rather public... dispute, shall we say, a few days ago. In front of me, Antonio, my little sister and her best friend." Vash sighs, taking a few steps over to stand with the two of them. "It was kind of strange, really. Francis accidentally told Arthur that he still loves him, and Arthur reacted about as well as you'd think he would."

"He did come in to work really angry one day. All I asked him was what exhibits we were putting in the Renaissance gallery so I could start planning and he started shouting at me about how it was 'my job and my responsibility'." Heracles muses, pouting a little as he recounts the story. "I didn't ask what was wrong, but I guess that was it."

"Don't worry about them." Vash shrugs nonchalantly. "They're always like this. I think they always will be."

Heracles laughs lazily, reaching up to rearrange his dark bangs over his forehead. Kiku is about to say something when the doorbell rings again, and Vash starts.

"I think that's probably our guest of honour." Vash announces, moving towards the phone and picking it up.

"Hey." Roderich's voice crackles over the cheap phone speakers. "Let me in."

"Hello to you too." Vash laughs lightly, hanging up the phone and pressing the button.

Roderich appears in the doorway a minute or two later, leaning against the doorframe and looking thoroughly dapper in a dark blue dress shirt and fitted black jeans. His thick rimmed glasses are sliding down his nose a little, and Vash has to stop himself from reaching up to push them back up.

"Hello." He says, smiling loosely at Vash. The blonde smiles back, a little bigger than usual, and somehow manages to suppress the blush that is threatening to spread across his cheeks.

"Hey yourself." Vash replies, perhaps a little flirtier than he means to, but he's had a few too many of Gilbert's shot glass whiskeys to care that much.

"Oh, good, you're here." Francis interrupts loudly as he comes barging in to the foyer and spots him. "We'd better get ready to go; everyone is waiting for us!"


	15. Chapter 15

Francis leads a procession through the downtown streets until they reach the bar they all seem to frequent and are ushered inside by a cheery bespectacled bartender who congratulates Roderich as he passes.

The small gathering of people already there –no doubt spearheaded by Henri, Tino and Lukas, Vash thinks– have taken to decorating the room with the variety of banners and balloons Francis had sent down earlier in the day. Tino is watching Berwald and Demitri blow up the purple and blue balloons, while Lukas is barking instructions at Tim and Matthias who are attempting to hang some clusters of balloons from the ceiling.

"I believe our guest of honour has arrived." Henri announces, turning on his heel to reach for the champagne as he spots them. "Congratulations!"

He holds out the bottle to Roderich –Francis had picked it out a few days earlier and had entrusted the van Driel boys with it, so Vash thinks it's some kind of miracle Tim didn't drink it by accident –who grins at him and takes it from him.

Lukas turns around then, beckoning Matthias from his position standing on top of a barstool and leaning against the wall behind him.

"Congratulations." The tiny blonde says with a small nod, looking up at Roderich with fiery blue eyes. "Will you be needing a glass, or are you planning on drinking that straight from the bottle?"

"Of course he doesn't need a glass!" Gilbert interrupts with a scoff, rolling his eyes at the other man. "It's his last day of freedom!"

Lukas sighs a little and exhales through his nose, turning away to talk to Vash.

"This idiot is Matthias." He says, gesturing at the incredibly tall blonde man beside him. Matthias grins, almost goofily in a way, pushing his unruly, long bangs out of his face. "Matthias, this is Vash. We went to high school together."

"It's nice to meet you!" Matthias exclaims, grabbing Vash's hand and shaking it, nearly ripping his arm off in the process.

"The pleasure's all mine, I'm sure." Vash manages to free his hand from the maniac in front of him and is about to move off to talk to Tino when he hears Gilbert's signature cackling laugh rise from behind him with the sound of a popping cork.

He turns to see Gilbert essentially pouring champagne over Roderich, and Vash stares at the two of them for a few moments, backing up a few steps to avoid the splash radius. Francis shakes his head at the two of them, watching as Roderich splutters against the stream of champagne pouring against his mouth, and skirts past them to force a glass into Vash's hand.

"Here." He says with a small nod, waiting until Vash's grip is firm before he clinks his wine glass against it. "Time to get very drunk in a very small space of time."

Vash nods in response, knocking his glass against Francis' before drinking almost all of its contents.

Three hours and far too many beers later, the bar is already in relative chaos. Matthias and Gilbert are collapsed, half asleep and completely drunk, over each other and the bar itself –much to the disgust of the bartender. Ludwig is kicking at his brother's leg to try and wake him up, but gives up after about five minutes of nothing but the occasional grunting snore. Tim is smoking something particularly unsavoury in a corner; Heracles keeps taking the odd drag, and Henri and Kiku are watching the both of them with looks of disapproval, before they huff at them and turn to head to the bar. Francis is slouched in a booth, feet kicked up on to the table, talking idly in French to Matthew and glaring at Arthur and Alfred over his head.

Said couple are sitting at the bar, Alfred kicking his legs out as he yammers on about something incredibly trivial; Arthur has clearly zoned out and is discussing ancient religions with Berwald and Demitri. Tino is curled up under Berwald's arm, eyes closed and fingers pressed tight around the neck of the beer bottle in his hand, swaying absently to the music playing in the background.

Vash had been dragged on to the dance floor by Antonio about half an hour previously, and he's currently spinning in a circle, holding one of Antonio's hands and another of Roderich's. The Spaniard is giggling happily, obviously buzzed from the entire bottle of white wine he's drunk on his own, swinging his hips as he drags them closer to him.

Vash spots Lovino glowering at the three of them from a few feet away, clearly seething as he fumes in low, angry Italian to Feliciano, who looks legitimately concerned for his welfare as he attempts to shuffle away, only to be grabbed by the arm and pulled back in to the conversation.

Vash manages to excuse himself after a few more minutes, claiming he feels sick from all the spinning and needs more beer to counteract it, stumbling a little on his journey to the bar. He sees Ivan almost leering at Yao in the corner a few feet away from where Henri and Kiku are sloped against the wall gossiping. He shakes his head and thinks nothing of it, ordering his usual drink from the bored looking bartender and leaning against the counter.

Tino opens his eyes and sees him, a small smile gracing his features as he waves.

"Hey, Vash." He says, his thick Finnish accent becoming more obvious now that he's drunk a little too much. "I don't think I've spoken to you much tonight."

"No." Vash agrees, turning a little to take his beer from the bartender who has presented him with it. "We haven't. How are things?"

"Great." He grins, pulling away from Berwald and leaning beside him. "Things are picking up at the office –they've put me on those daily comic strips for the newspapers– and I think they're looking at promoting me soon."

"That's good." Vash nods. "I'm still pouring coffee while I get through college. I don't mind it, though."

"Oh yeah, I think I saw you in there when I came to meet Berwald." Tino smiles widely, bubbly and cheery as ever, only stopping when he sees Lukas watching the two of them. They both stare at him, and he stares back, and they almost thing that he's planning to berate them for something when he grabs both of them by the wrist and pulls them towards the dance floor again.

They're casually swaying together, talking about this and that and sipping at their beers, when Francis comes barging past and swinging a microphone around his wrist.

"Look what I found!" He yells, twirling the microphone high above his head by the string. "Groom goes first!"

He thrusts the microphone into Roderich's hands, and no matter how much he's drunk he's still going to be embarrassed by singing in public.

"Best man picks the song!" Francis continues, grabbing Vash's arm and pulling him towards the console. "They have everything on here."

Vash hums thoughtfully as he scrolls, and Roderich comes skittering over to knock their shoulders together.

"Don't pick something stupid." Roderich whines, twisting the wire between his fingers.

"Why would I do something like that?" Vash almost smirks as he settles on a song. "What are your feelings about  _Woki Mit Deim Popo_?"

"What? You mean that  _ridiculous_ song that-"

"That horrible German rap song that Austria entered into this year's Eurovision Song Contest? Yes, that's exactly what I mean."

"I think it's a crime against music. You know that."

"So you wouldn't want to sing it in front of everyone?"

"No!"

"Well, that's unfortunate." Vash smirks a little wider as he hovers his finger over the song. "That's what you get when you make me watch all of Eurovision with no kind of retribution."

"That still shouldn't mean I should have to sing it! That's like me making you sing that  _thing_ that Switzerland entered!"

"Hey! That song had meaning and you know it!" Vash huffs, immediately defensive of his country despite not having visited it in a few years. "And we didn't have pole dancers in one piece spandex on stage!"

"Our entry was meant to be funny!" Roderich grumbles, folding his arms. "It was ironic."

"Austria was the laughing stock of Europe!" Vash retorts with a barking laugh. "You finished almost completely last! Now give me that microphone."

He swipes it from Roderich's hands, half dragging him across the floor with him as he moves into the centre of the room.

"Right, people!" He shouts, voice projecting out through the speakers and squeaking a little at his volume. "I hope someone's filming this for future blackmail purposes, because Roderich's about to rap about asses in German, and it'll be hilarious."

Roderich glowers at him over his shoulder as at least five people in various corners of the room pull out cameras or their cell phones.

"I hate you." Roderich snaps, taking the microphone from his as Vash snickers to himself and presses a few things on the console. Some irritating dance music starts up and Roderich steps back to actually look at the screen that's showing the words he should be singing.

"I'd just like to let everyone know that my best friend is a total asshole." Roderich bites out before the opening lines catch him off guard.

Vash and Francis start cackling as Roderich fumbles drunkenly over awkward German lyrics that he'd normally be able to pronounce but seem to escape him now that he's four or five beers down. He gets through it, somehow, even if most of the room are in hysterics –especially those that can speak even some German, Austrian dialect or not –and finishes with a resounding ' _woki mit deim popo, wei wos i wü bist du_ ' and a half glare at Vash. The blonde smirks back and holds out a beer. Roderich huffs to himself and takes it from him, and Francis takes the microphone and presses it into Vash's now empty palm.

"Don't you dare." Vash growls, stalking after Francis as the Frenchman fumbles over to the console. Francis laughs his distinct, accented drawl and flicks absently through the song list in front of him.

"Oh, I dare." Francis laughs, pressing a song with a smug smile on his face. "Everyone shut up! Someone will want to get this on film."

Vash scowls at him as he recognizes the opening notes of Taylor Swift's  _You Belong With Me_  and groans, grumbling his way through an averagely tuneful rendition before Antonio strong-arms Francis over and forces him to sing a loud, shouting version of Pink's  _So What_ right in Arthur's face. The Brit looks utterly mortified, but Alfred doesn't seem to notice the biting undertone and finds the whole thing hilarious.

Antonio volunteers himself next, belting out a heavily accented cover of Pussycat Dolls' _When I Grow Up_ , complete with dirty dancing against Lovino, who is flushed bright red and looks utterly humiliated. A happy, giggling Tino takes the stage leaning on Berwald and practically growls out Lordi's  _Hard Rock Hallelujah_ to the great amusement of everyone else, and to the confusion of Matthias, who has just woken up with his head stuck to the bar.

A slightly dazed Heracles finds himself dared by Tim, Henri and Kiku to sing Greece's most recent Eurovision entry, as if continuing the theme, which leads to a horrifying dance routine involving a towel functioning very poorly as a skirt. A freshly risen Gilbert finds himself hauled on stage with a microphone in his grip to accompany Antonio and Francis in a beautiful stylistic interpretation of  _California Girls_ , complete with horrendous, mentally scarring dance moves.

Vash finds himself sprawling all over the wood of the bar, talking idly with a half-asleep Matthew, who is staring blankly into his almost empty glass of whiskey and swirling the liquid around with a subtle flick of his wrist.

"I think we rang out my last night of freedom in style, you know?" Roderich interrupts their silence by appearing from nowhere and slumping over Vash's back, leaning his head against the blonde's and grinning. He's incredibly drunk and probably won't remember much in the morning, so Vash doesn't bother moving him away. Matthew watches the two of them with a small smile on his face and excuses himself to go and rescue Alfred from being dragged into a dance war with Henri.

Roderich wraps his arms around the blonde's waist and squeezes, and Vash chokes for a second before the brunette laughs right in his ear and releases him, sliding into the seat Matthew had just vacated.

"Thanks." He says after a few minutes, slumping forward in his seat slightly and smiling almost dopily. "For tonight."

"It wasn't just me, remember?" Vash corrects him with a soft pat to his upper arm. "Most of it was Francis' idea, Antonio and Gilbert arranged everything, and Arthur sort of bossed everyone around and shouted at us when we did things wrong. I just invited people."

He shrugs, and Roderich shakes his head, laughing loosely as he pats at his friend's arm.

"It's not just tonight for you though, is it? You helped arrange everything for tomorrow too; I mean, you helped us both buy our outfits, and planned the honeymoon with me, and helped me write out all the invites and arrange all the seating plans when you really didn't have to because I know you had better things to do." Roderich rambles for a few minutes before he stops himself and grins. "And you have to make sure Arthur and Francis don't kill each other tomorrow, so it's not like you've had easy jobs. I just really appreciate it, you know?"

"Yes, I know." Vash rolls his eyes, and Roderich bats at him playfully, but misses by a good five inches. "I'm your best friend, why wouldn't I help you get married? I'm not  _that_ much of an asshole."

Roderich laughs and grabs on to Vash's arm, pulling him in closer and resting his head on the blonde's shoulder.

"You're great." Roderich rolls sideways, the back of his head flat against Vash's shoulder, his glasses almost falling off his nose as he leans. "I love you."

Vash stares sideways at him, eyes wide as his heart practically stills in his chest, and Roderich smiles at him, lips stretching upwards.

"In a not-gay way, of course." Roderich corrects himself after a minute or two of silence, and Vash sighs inwardly. "I mean, I'm pretty sure you just hate everyone equally, so it's not like it matters."

He laughs, and Vash stares at him with shocked green eyes, until Roderich sits himself up and smiles wide, apparently not noticing how awkward everything suddenly feels.

Lukas dives in at the perfect moment, after they've been staring blankly at each other for about five minutes, with Matthias leaning against him, half asleep and kind of dazed.

"We're going to head off." The smaller blonde explains, gesturing at the sleeping Dane beside him. "He's basically dead on his massive feet. I'll see you tomorrow, thanks for an... Interesting night."

He raises a hand and waves, elbows Matthias harshly in the ribs to force him awake before bundling him out of the door.

"That's a point, actually." Vash hums to himself as he spins his beer bottle in his hand.

"What?"

"I should probably be getting you back to the apartment at some point soon." Vash states, tipping his head back and drinking the last of his beer.

"But why?" Roderich practically whines, almost pouting at the blonde as he stands up and straightens his clothes out.

"Because, I don't know if you've forgotten, but you're getting married in eight hours."

"Oh, fuck."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> few things again: the van Driel boys are Henri (Luxembourg) and Tim (Netherlands), so obviously Belgium is Bella van Driel.
> 
> a lot of Eurovision stuff mentioned here, so for the benefit of anyone outside of Europe and Europeans who don't keep up with the contests itself, here are the entries mentioned, in order:
> 
> Austria 2012 - Woki Mit Diem Popo - Trackshittaz.  
> 'Woki Mit Diem Popo' loosely translates from Austrian-German to English as (and I wish I was joking) Waggle Your Ass. Yeah. I don't even know. The band also describe themselves as 'tractor gangsta party rap'. They finished last in their semi-final with 8 points, and had the lowest score across all of the semi-final entrants. However, Norway only scored 7 points in the actual Song Contest (excellent work, Tooji), so they weren't stone dead last. It was still Austria's worst result since 1991, though. Vash calling them the 'laughing stock of Europe' is probably a bit strong -the song itself did quite well outside of the contest but it was just a disaster within it.
> 
> Switzerland 2012 - Unbreakable - Sinplus.  
> This didn't advance past the semi-finals either, so Vash kind of has no grounds to insult Roderich here. I personally think it's a better song than Woki, and it did get 45 points in its semi-final. It only missed getting into the final to Hungary by something like 7 points, so it kind of speaks for itself. No-one actually sings this in this chapter, though, but it's mentioned by Roderich.
> 
> Finland 2006 - Hard Rock Hallelujah - Lordi.  
> I... Yeah. I imagine even those of you outside of Europe have heard this. Finland won for the first ever time with this ...lovely ditty. Up until then its ESC history had been utter crap. It actually held the record for the most points (292) for a few years until Norway came along and broke it with Alexander Rybak a few years later. I just personally enjoy the image of sweet little Tino singing this.
> 
> Greece 2012 - Aphrodisiac - Eleftheria Eleftheriou.  
> Nothing much to say for this one, other than it was actually quite a good entry on Greece's part. The last one of theirs that found particularly memorable was OPA in 2010. And I enjoy the idea of a patriotic Heracles prancing about like a 20-something female pop singer. I don't even know.
> 
> And, apparently, I can bloody talk for ages about Eurovision. If you want to hear any of these, they're all on youtube (I'd link if AO3 allowed it) so if you just stick in 'Eurovision year country' then it should come up.


	16. Chapter 16

Vash wakes at about nine the next morning, still in his jeans and boots, sprawled over his bed with his head hanging over the edge. There's an uncomfortable weight on his legs, he notes, and he tries to move them but he can't. The shape resting on him groans and shifts a little, pressing heavier on the back of his thighs.

Vash grumbles and moves his head, turning to try and look at whoever it is, and spots the telltale brown hair splaying over his jeans, with that one disobedient strand flicking up from his forehead. It's Roderich.

"Hey, idiot." Vash groans, his voice creaking a little as he tries to wake up his best friend. "Roderich."

The other man grumbles but doesn't wake, rolling over a little and settling his head against Vash's upper thigh and murmuring contentedly.

Vash sighs, awkwardly propping himself up on his elbows and trying to move to rouse the sleeping man.

"Roderich." He kicks his legs out and Roderich whines in his sleep. "You moron, get your head out of my ass."

"I'm not in your ass." Roderich mumbles, rolling a little to look at the blonde who's currently glaring at him over his shoulder.

"Either way, could you move? I can't get up until you get off of my legs, and if we lay here any longer then Francis will probably come and shout at us for not being up in time."

"Why? What time is it?" Roderich yawns, dragging himself up and settling into a sitting position, crossing his legs absently.

"Just past nine." Vash states, rolling on to his back and sitting up himself. "We need to be gone by half ten at the latest; me and the fools you appointed as groomsmen have to seat everyone, and no doubt Elizabeta or her family will want to talk to me about  _something_  so I'll have a million and one things to do in the space of one, maybe two hours tops."

"We should probably get a move on, then."

"You think?" Vash rolls his eyes affectionately at him and pulls himself to his feet, blinking harshly a few times to get his bearings before he heads towards his closet.

He rummages around for a few seconds, sliding coat hangers in opposite directions until he finds the suit bags he'd stored there a week or so previously.

"Here. This must be yours. It has your name on it." Vash passes him one of the bags, hanging the other up on the door handle and unzipping it. "The bag with all of your crap in it that you left the other day is over there, I think."

Vash gestures wildly at the corner of the room near his over-spilling bookshelf; anthologies, dictionaries and the odd thick, ominous textbook having fallen out and piled themselves in an ungainly stack beside it.

"It could be under that massive book on the Standard Model, if you can pick it up with your tiny musician arms." Vash laughs, pulling the shirt from the bag and tugging it on to his shoulders.

"It's not  _that_ big." Roderich huffs, bending down to scoop the tome up. He falters a little under its weight. "And I'm not  _that_ weak, you know!"

"Tell me again how 'playing the piano and painting things' is strenuous work." The blonde deadpans, looking sideways at his friend as he deftly buttons his shirt closed.

"You couldn't do it."

"You're right, I couldn't." Vash accepts with a slight shrug. "But I've never felt any compulsion to, either. Just like you  _probably_ couldn't do half the work in my Math course, and you'd never want to."

"I suppose." Roderich shrugs, rummaging in his bag for something before he starts unbuttoning last night's shirt. "I'm still quite unfit, though."

"You say that like I'm a shining example of the male species."

"You're more in shape than I am." Roderich laughs, sliding his shirt off and immediately pulling the new, pressed white one on instead.

"That's not a challenge." Vash almost laughs as he pulls his tie around his neck, twisting and looping the fabric intricately until it forms a neat little knot that he carefully rearranges with his thin fingers.

"Shut up."

They continue dressing in relative silence, and Vash has just nicely finished tucking his shirt into his pants and sliding a thin, black belt into the loops when Roderich whines from across the room.

"Vash." He groans, dragging out the 'a' sound until the blonde fixes him with a withering look. The brunette is standing with his arms folded across his chest, in a neatly buttoned shirt and his underwear, bowtie messily tied backwards around his neck. "Help me."

Vash sighs and purses his lips, stepping closer to his best friend and unpicking his clumsy knot and retying it carefully.

"There. Better?"

"Much." Roderich grins and moves to pull on his pants.

"Are you nervous?" Vash asks as he fastens the lone button on his suit jacket and smoothes everything down in the mirror.

"I think I'm alright for now." Roderich replies with a distinctly unsteady nod, shaking his pant leg to get it to fall properly. "When we're on the way I think I might not be, though."

"You'll be fine." Vash rolls his eyes, watching as the taller man slides into the matching waistcoat and fumbles with the three large buttons. "What do you have to be worried about?"

"Well, things could go wrong, one of us could be late, she might not even  _show up_ , I don't know, I mean-" He rambles, and Vash has to step closer to him and grab him by the shoulders to shut him up.

"It'll be fine. Now grab your jacket and let's go, I think Francis will be wanting to attack our hair before we even consider going anywhere."

"Oh, great."

They arrive downstairs to see a perfectly groomed Antonio styling Arthur's hair, while a sleek Francis, his hair tied back in smooth, wavy ponytail, works on Gilbert.

"Oh, good, we were wondering when you two would show your faces." Francis comments, running his gelled fingers through Gilbert's silvery blonde hair before slapping him on the shoulder. "You're done. Vash, get over here."

The blonde frowns a little, moving and sitting in the seat that Gilbert had just vacated. Francis hums thoughtfully, reaching for a few things he'd positioned on the table beside him.

"Dare I ask what you're planning?" Vash asks almost nervously as Francis sprays something on his hair.

"Don't worry." Francis smiles, moving in front of him to straighten the front pieces of his hair with the straighteners in his hand.

He continues until Vash's hair is almost perfectly poker straight, before he fluffs it up a little with some gel. Antonio shoos Arthur and sits Roderich down and sets about his hair beside him. Francis combs through Vash's hair quickly before he swipes up a thin black ribbon and ties it back quickly.

"What the hell are you doing?" Vash asks, aghast as Francis straightens his ponytail out and leans in front of him to pull a few strands free at either side of his face.

"I'm making you look good." Francis hums, moving in front of him and rearranging his bangs. "It's not every day your best friend gets married, is it?"

Vash huffs, and Francis pulls him on to his feet and surveys him carefully.

"You look good. You brush up surprisingly well."

"Oh, thanks."

Next to him, Roderich stands up and Antonio stands on his tiptoes to reach up and flick out a few more pieces of Roderich's hair.

"Well, don't you two look fabulous." The Spaniard grins. "Is everyone ready to go?"

"I think so." Francis replies with a nod, reaching for his jacket and tugging it over his shoulders. "I'll go get Arthur and Gilbert."

Vash frowns after him, and jumps about a foot in the air when Roderich exclaims next to him.

"Oh, shit. Hang on." He goes barrelling up the stairs a few seconds later, and Antonio and Vash lean in to look up after him. He reappears less than a minute later, brandishing two boxes.

"I nearly forgot these." He thrusts them both into Vash's hand, and the blonde shakes his head in disdain. "They're labelled with our initials, so you can give us the right ones."

"I'm not that stupid." Vash rolls his eyes and pockets the boxes. Francis reappears then, Arthur and Gilbert following close behind him, and bundles the three of the outside and into the rental car that's waiting for them.

When they arrive at the church, they're actually early, but there's still a few people lurking around. Lovino, Feliciano and Ludwig are standing together, all in expensive suits and fastidiously neat ties as they talk quietly to each other. Matthew and Alfred are bickering about something, and Matthew keeps reaching up to try and flatten that one stubborn cowlick on his brother's hairline that keeps flicking up –Alfred keeps batting him away and trying to steal his glasses. A few people that Elizabeta must have invited are there too, because there's an angry looking girl with a bow in her mousy blonde hair standing near Ivan, and even the usually unflappable Russian looks more than a little unnerved.

Roderich runs away and hides as soon as they've ushered everyone inside and started seating people where they should be. The first family to arrive are Roderich's, with Mrs Edelstein bustling down the aisle with her husband following behind her. She spots Vash standing near the altar talking quietly with Arthur, and comes rushing towards him to envelope him in a tight hug.

"Vash, sweetheart, how are you?" She exclaims, releasing him to kiss his cheek. "It's been too long."

"I'm good thanks, Mrs. E." He smiles loosely at her, and Mr. Edelstein pops up behind his wife and straightens his glasses.

"Call me Carli, please." She laughs, bubbly and so unlike her son that it'd be almost impossible to tell they're related were it not for their dark hair and darker eyes. "I've told you before."

"Sorry." He laughs, and she smiles widely at him, moving off to go and talk to Francis and Antonio.

"Vash." Mr. Edelstein says, taking his hand and shaking it briskly. "Do you know where Roderich is?"

"He's in there." Vash says, gesturing down the corridor that leads to the back rooms. "He's probably freaking out."

"Thanks. You'll be coming through soon?"

"Yeah. I have to seat a few more people and wait for the bride, then I'll be through."

Mr. Edelstein nods and heads off to find his son. Vash seats Heracles and Kiku, who've just shown up in matching suits and red ties, followed by Berwald and a slightly worse for wear Tino. Lukas, Matthias and Erik aren't too far behind, all dressed almost entirely in black with the exception of thin, bright ties.

He's just settled Henri, Tim and the Constantinou brothers in their respective seats when a firm grip hugs him around the waist from behind. At first he thinks it's Francis and moves to shake him off, but he recognizes the distinctive, giggling laugh.

"Mom?"

"Hello, sweetheart." She grins, and he moves away and rearranges himself to hug her back. "You look fabulous."

"Thanks." He smiles at her and absently plays with a few strands of his hair. "Lilli's a bridesmaid; I've seen her dress. She looks beautiful."

"I'll bet she does." She smiles, patting his shoulders down and looking around the room. "Now, where's that darling little French boy?"

"Francis? He's hardly a boy, Mom." Vash laughs, shaking his head at her. "But he's over there with Arthur. They split up recently so you might end up walking into the middle of an argument or a shouting match or something."

"Nonsense." She chastises him with a laugh and a shake of her head. "He'll be fine."

She kisses him on the forehead and wanders off to talk to Francis. There's an exclamation of 'Anna!' a few moments later and the sound of them both laughing, so Vash assumes she can't have interrupted anything.

"Hey, Dad." He turns back to his father and smiles loosely. His father nods in return.

"Vash. How's college?"

"It's good. Hard work, but good."

"I'm glad." His father smiles a little, almost uncharacteristically, actually, and slaps his son on the back. "I think I'd better go and rescue Francis from your mother,  _non_?"

Vash laughs and nods, watching as his father moves off and finds himself dragged into the conversation himself.

While he's been talking to his parents, the church has almost entirely filled up, save the exceptions of the front row seats for groomsmen, bridesmaids and Elizabeta's parents and family, who have yet to arrive. The priest is wandering around as if looking for someone, and Vash makes sure as many people are in their seats before he dips into the side corridor to look for Roderich. He passes both of their parents on his way, and they're gossiping and chatting together as they return to their seats.

He finds Roderich leaning against the wall and breathing heavily, a glass of cold water held tightly in his shaking hands.

"Hey." He says quietly, and Roderich's terrified eyes snap up to stare at him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm –I'm fine." He replies, hesitant, and takes a long drink of his water. "Just nervous, you know?"

"Well, I've never gotten married, so not exactly, but I can imagine." Vash says with a shrug and a small smile. "You should probably come outside soon; Elizabeta should be here in about five minutes."

"Oh, Christ, don't say that!" Roderich panics, drinking the rest of his water in one long gulp.

"Come on." Vash sighs almost grudgingly and scoops him up, pulling him towards the door. "You're not being late for your wedding when you've been sitting here for nearly two hours."

Roderich straightens himself and follows after the blonde, walking out into an almost full church. His eyes go wide as Vash stands him beside the altar and shoots a quick smile at his parents.

"Oh Christ." Roderich mutters, leaning in to Vash and staring worriedly at him. "I can't do this."

The blonde glares at him and leans in even closer to mumble back at him.

"Do you want to marry her or not?"

"Of course I do!"

"Good!" Vash snaps under his breath. "You love this woman, and you're going to take her as your wife today and I won't let you screw this up."

Vash moves away from him then and looks up at the clock above him. It's time. He looks to the doors, and, directly on cue, a small, mousy haired woman Vash vaguely recognizes as Elizabeta's mother leans in and nods at him.

The orchestra start playing in the background, and Roderich exhales shakily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psyche. Wedding's next chapter, folks. It needed more delightfully filler-y character crap before, I thought.
> 
> Few bits of crap information for this chapter -Vash's mother is called Annaliese, which I think was mentioned waaay earlier on, hence why Francis calls her Anna. Also, I didn't find an appropriate place to really fit it in, but in my head Roderich's dad's name is Andrew and Vash's dad is called Johannes. I was going to put it in but it sounded a bit forced.
> 
> Anyway, the real purpose of this author's note is my need to ask you lovelies a question. After this story is said and done (which likely won't be for a while yet), I'm contemplating writing another SwissAus AU. I don't have a plot ironed out yet, really, but I'm considering a radio station!AU in which Vash (and a lot others, Francis/Arthur/etc) are DJs for a pretty big station and Roderich is interning as part of his university course. Vash and Francis are quite famous, for radio DJs in any case (if you're British/listen to BBC radio, think like Chris Moyles/Scott Mills/Fearne Cotton level of fame) and have to deal with their lives being in the public eye and all that jazz. Obviously it would end in Vash/Roderich and probably Francis/someone, but I'm just curious as to anyone would be interested in reading something like that?


	17. Chapter 17

_The service is beautiful_ , Vash finds himself thinking bitterly as he watches Roderich smile shyly at a practically radiant Elizabeta, her pale brown hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders. He steels himself for the classic  _speak now or forever hold your peace_ line, standing behind Roderich and staring at Francis as if it'll help. Arthur is silently frowning at him, as if trying to get him to stay where he is and not ruin his best friend's wedding, but Vash doesn't see him.

And then, just like that, the priest nods and carries on, and Vash exhales slowly in an effort to calm himself down, and practically zones out as they say their  _I do's_ and kiss like there's no tomorrow. There's applause, and Vash almost starts and joins in with a slightly faked smile at the two of them.

They're dragged outside and spend what feels like three hours taking a seemingly endless amount of photographs, most of which he is dragged into –including an apparently random one of him with Katyusha that Elizabeta had decided she wanted when she saw them talking to each other.

The photographer announces he's finished, and then everyone is piled into cars and ferried over to the nondescript hotel they'd chosen for the reception, and Vash mentally prepares himself for his speech –which, when he gives it half an hour later, standing up behind the top table and making jokes at Roderich's expense, seems to go over pretty well.

They're just getting ready for the couple's first dance –they'd chosen  _I Don't Wanna Miss A Thing_ despite vehement protests from everyone else- when Vash notices Francis talking quietly to Arthur. The Englishman is smiling weakly, occasionally gesturing back at Alfred behind him. Francis nods at him, and turns back to look towards the dance floor where Roderich is leading Elizabeta, their hands clasped tightly together as they smile at each other and wait for the music.

It starts up, a little slow at first and Roderich pulls her in and kisses the corner of her mouth and sways her backwards and forwards slowly, in time with the music. There's subtle, quiet applause starting up around the room, and Katyusha appears beside Vash and smiles weakly at him.

"Aren't they sweet?" She says, cocking her head slightly to gesture at the newlyweds, who have been joined on the floor by both sets of their parents.

"Yeah. I'm happy for them." Vash replies quietly, with an almost determined nod. "Shall we dance?"

He turns to her, and she rearranges her short blonde hair and shifts her tiara a little on her head before she nods curtly and takes his outstretched hand.

"Yes, I think we should."

She leads him out on to the floor, her hands finding his waist clumsily as she smiles at him.

"I'll warn you now, I can't dance." He informs her with an almost wry smile.

"I can't, either." She smiles back, leaning into him slightly and guiding him in swaying back and forth. "But I suppose it might look like we can."

"I'm fine with that." Vash almost laughs, a small smile actually tugging at the corners of his mouth. He spots a few more couples making it out onto the floor –Matthew and Gilbert are standing in each other's arms and barely moving as they mumble to each other; Antonio and Lovino are actually trying to dance properly, but keep tripping over each other and laughing quietly at themselves; Heracles has Kiku pulled incredibly close to him, arms tight around his back as they move across the floor, occasionally stooping to kiss him on the forehead.

Vash is only half paying attention when he notices Francis moving through the congregation as if he's looking for someone. He has a distinctly determined look on his face and Vash realizes why when he reaches the person he's looking for and taps them softly on the shoulder. It's Arthur.

He's alone, standing and watching everyone else dance and talk with a glass of –likely expensive– red wine in his hand. Alfred is nowhere in sight. Vash watches as Francis gives him a sympathetic smile, and Arthur grumbles back at him and drinks what's left in his glass before he sets it firmly on the table. Francis seems to study the Englishman for a long few minutes, before he tugs his hands from his pockets and holds one out to Arthur as a tentative offer. The other blonde stares at him for a long few moments and says something Vash can't decipher from his mouth movements. Francis seems to laugh, and Arthur looks at him again, then at the outstretched hand still held out in front of him before he smiles loosely –a tiny, barely noticeable upward quirk of his lips– and nods abruptly, reaching out and taking hold of Francis' hand. The Frenchman practically beams at him, twisting their fingers together and pulling him on to the floor with him.

"What are you smiling at?" Katyusha asks, confused, as she pulls back from him when the song is over and studies his face.

"Oh, nothing." Vash smiles half-knowingly at Arthur and Francis across the room. "My roommate was having some serious issues with his ex, but I think they've worked it out."

"Oh." Katyusha covers her mouth daintily as she laughs. "I have a roommate like that. I know how you feel."

"So, you two seem to be getting along like a house on fire." Elizabeta pops up from nowhere then, Roderich on her arm and grinning happily from ear to ear.

"What?" Vash and Katyusha say in unison, frowning first at each other and then at Elizabeta.

"Wait, it's not like-" Vash starts, and Elizabeta laughs at him and reaches over to pat him on the shoulder.

"I know it's not." She smiles, and Vash raises an eyebrow at her. "I was kidding, guys."

Katyusha releases an audible sigh of relief from beside him.

"Thank god Ivan didn't hear you." Katyusha mutters, scanning the room for her younger brother as if the mere mention of his name will draw him out from wherever he's hiding. "You know what he gets like."

"I know, I know." Elizabeta smiles lightly with a roll of her eyes. She leans forward and grabs Katyusha's wrist, pulling her away and towards the centre of the floor. "Now come on, let's go dance. Leave the men to their gossip."

She grins at the two of them and waves as she drags Katyusha away from the two of them. The blonde girl looks concerned, but doesn't say anything, and the two men watch haplessly as they disappear into the crowd.

"So, what do you think of Katyusha?" Roderich asks coyly as Vash starts to move away and head towards the bar. "It looks like you're getting on really well."

"She seems nice enough." Vash shrugs as he reaches the bar and orders two beers. "But I swear to god if you or your wife try to set me up with her I'll make sure your life is no longer worth living."

"Well, I won't be trying anything, but I can't promise you that Liz won't." Roderich laughs, watching as Vash takes the beers from the bartender and offers him one. "Thanks."

Vash shrugs and takes a long drink from his own beer, leaning back against the wall behind him and watching people dance.

"So, should I constantly refer to you as Mr. and Mrs. Edelstein now? Even when it pisses you off?"

"I guess you should, yeah." Roderich laughs, as if in disbelief. "God, that sounds weird. I have a  _wife_ now."

Vash outwardly winces but stays silent, instead focussing on taking a long drink from his bottle.

He's about to start onto a different subject when a disgruntled Francis comes huffing by him, a bottle of red wine in his hand and a frown set on his face. The two of them watch him go, as he pushes open the huge, glass double doors that lead outside.

"What's wrong with him?" Roderich asks, frowning after him.

"He was talking to Arthur earlier; they've probably had another argument."

"I didn't even realize they're on speaking terms again."

"I don't know if I'd go as far as to say they'll be getting back together any time soon, but at least they're managing to speak like civilized human beings." Vash replies with another shrugs. "Which, in itself, is an improvement from last week, when they managed to have several arguments despite supposedly 'avoiding' each other."

"Wow." Roderich laughs, leaning beside his best friend and watching his expression. "That's quite an achievement."

"That's what I said." Vash nods quickly in agreement. "Antonio and Gilbert just found the whole arrangement quite hilarious."

"I'd hardly expect them to be sympathetic, frankly. You know what they're like."

"I know." Vash shakes his head weakly, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as he looks down at his feet. "I think I'd better go talk to him –see if he's alright, you know? He can be more than a little stupid when he gets upset."

"I know." Roderich nods and takes another drink of his beer. "You can go, if you want. I think Liz will probably want to show me off to all of her irritating female cousins, so it's probably only a matter of time before she hunts me down."

"Oh, have fun with that." Vash laughs. "I'll let you know how Francis is."

"Thanks." Roderich smiles, and raises a hand to wave him off. "See you in an hour or so."

Vash nods and follows Francis' path outside. He pushes open the heavy doors and glances around. There's not much outside –the hotel is situated on a low, grassy hill, and there's a small paved area with a few seats and tables that have been bedecked with flowers, ribbons, and dainty little fairy lights.

For a moment Vash can't see Francis, until he lays his eyes on his slumping form sitting forward in a chair, wine bottle situated on the table beside him. Antonio is sitting across from him, mumbling quietly and occasionally reaching over and grabbing the wine by the bottle neck and drinking a full mouthful.

"What the hell are you two doing?" Vash asks as he approaches the two of them, beer bottle held loosely between his fingers. The two of them turn to face him, their expressions blank and largely unimpressed.

"Drowning our sorrows in fancy Austrian wine, what does it look like?" Francis huffs, reaching for the back of his head and pulling at the ribbon that's holding his hair into a loose ponytail. It slips away from his hair and his curls fall in loose waves around his face.

"Now what happened?" Vash asks with a sigh, stepping closer to them and pulling up a chair.

"Well, Arthur decided to tell me he'd like us to get back together." Francis sighs, leaning over and swiping the wine from Antonio.

"That's good, isn't it?"

"It would be, if he hadn't told me we  _couldn't_ get back together because he's still with Alfred, and since he cares about him too, he doesn't want to break up with him out of nowhere and hurt his feelings." Francis groans, raising the bottle to his lips and drinking an entire mouthful before he slams the bottle back down and frowns at the table.

"I told you he's an asshole. Whether I get along with him or not, he's an asshole to you."

"That's what I said." Antonio interjects, picking up the wine himself and taking a long drink. Vash notes the unusual bitterness in the Spaniard's voice and turns to look at him with a soft frown on his face.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I don't know if Lovino loves me." Antonio sighs, crossing his arms on the table top and leaning forward to rest his forehead on them.

"What makes you say that?"

"I don't know." Antonio replies listlessly. "It's just that he never tells me he loves me, sometimes he hardly makes time to see me outside of college and, and –today, it felt like he'd rather spend his time talking to Bella!"

"Do you love him?" Vash asks, out of the blue as he cocks his head at the other man.

"What?" Antonio frowns. "Of course I do. He's basically my world."

"How do you know?" Vash presses. "That you love him, I mean."

"I don't know, really. I guess it's just trusting somebody with everything –your heart, your life, anything you can think of, really– and them choosing to trust you back."

"And it's waking up in the morning and them being the first thing you see." Francis interrupts, looking up at the two of them. "And wanting to be near them all the time, and letting them know that you love them, and need them, no matter how horrible things might seem."

"It's not all sunshine and rainbows, you know." Antonio sighs, tracing a few random shapes on the table top with his finger. "Love actually kind of sucks."

"You say that like I don't know." Vash grumbles, finishing his beer and slamming the empty bottle down. He reaches for the wine and takes a long drink.

"How're you holding up?" Antonio asks, cocking his head in concern.

"Alright. About as well as you'd expect me to be, really." He shrugs, tucking a few loose hairs behind his ear. "I suppose I could always be better, but I guess that's what you get when you fall in love with someone and they never notice."

Antonio reaches over and squeezes his arm.

"He told me he loved me yesterday." Vash mumbles, fixing suddenly watery green eyes at the table in front of him and picking at his suit pants.

"What?" Antonio stares at him, wide-eyed and face flushed from the alcohol. "That's great! He feels the same for you as you feel for him!"

"Hardly." Vash scoffs, pushing his bangs away from his face and looking between the two other men. "Considering he was drunker than I'd ever seen him, he was half-asleep on me, and the obvious fact that he still got married this morning. He didn't even mention it this morning. He didn't remember, and he certainly didn't mean it."

He sighs tersely and wipes the sleeve of his jacket over his eyes, dispersing the few tears that are starting to gather there.

"You're a stronger man than me, Vash. Than both of us." Antonio admits, sliding his hand down the blonde's arm to squeeze his wrist. Vash laughs wetly and shakes his head.

There are a few moments of silence, and they pass the wine bottle between themselves until Vash exhales loudly.

"You know, I think I might just go home for a while. Gather my thoughts, have a good think about things; I probably need to. I'd come back in time to graduate, obviously, if I carry on working while I'm there."

"Wait." Francis cuts in, looking sideways at him. "When you say home, do you mean Boston or  _Geneva_?"

"Probably Geneva." Vash admits, almost shiftily. "I haven't visited in a while, and I could do with the break. I do miss it sometimes."

"I know." Antonio agrees with a small smile. "I sometimes wish I could go back to Cordoba more often. There's nothing like your home country to make you feel better."

"Someone's feeling patriotic." Francis smirks across at him, and Antonio grins at him. "But, I have to agree. Do what you want. If it feels right to go and freeze yourself half to death, then do it. So long as you keep in touch."

"I will."


	18. Chapter 18

Roderich and Elizabeta fly to Paris a few days later, after Francis has loaded them up with tourist guides and lists of sights to see and restaurants to sample and markets to visit. He and Vash had driven them to the airport and arranged to keep an eye on their apartment, and had waved them off at the terminal before they'd turned the car around and headed home.

Antonio had left not too long after they had, on a flight back to his home and college studies in Las Vegas. He'd promised to visit again soon, had hugged them both tight before he was pulled away towards the check in desk by Lovino and Ludwig.

Matthew and Gilbert had flown back to Toronto the day after, and Alfred had tagged along to see his brother off, but had apparently not noticed the sour looks he kept getting from Francis –despite everyone else barely managing to stop themselves from blurting it out to him.

Francis comes home from work later than usual one Thursday a week or so later. He finds Vash curled up on the sofa with his laptop on his legs, fumbling through lists of flight times and costs.

"What  _are_ you doing?" Francis asks with a small laugh as he settles himself on the other sofa, pulling the ribbon tying his hair away and running his fingers through the loose blonde waves.

"Looking for flights, why?"

"Shouldn't you be looking for hotels or package deals?"

"Why would I be doing that?" Vash frowns across the room at the other blonde.

"Because last I knew, neither you nor your family own any kind of house or apartment in Geneva. So unless you're planning on sleeping in a box on the pavement somewhere, you're probably going to need a hotel."

"Well, actually, since you're asking, a friend of mine is in Geneva with his job when I'm planning to go over, so I emailed him and he's offered to put me up."

He clicks a few buttons on his laptop and changes to show his emails before he turns the screen to Francis. The Frenchman finds himself presented with a very lengthy email in a mix of half decent English and slightly broken French.

"Who in the name of Christ is 'Toris'?"

"He's an old friend." Vash explains briefly with a small shrug. "He's not long graduated from college in Lithuania. He's training to be an interpreter now."

"How fascinating." Francis laughs with a roll of his bright blue eyes. "But that still doesn't exactly explain how the hell you know a trainee interpreter from Eastern Europe in the first place."

"I suppose you want me to tell you the whole story now, don't you?" Vash pretends to sigh, but sets his laptop down on the floor anyway and sits himself up properly.

"I appreciate it, if you don't mind." Francis smiles and tucks a few strands of hair behind his ear. "I feel like I'm missing out on some great treat."

"Well, when I still lived in Switzerland when I was really young –I must've been two or three at the time– Toris and his family moved in next door to us. He's a few years older than me, but we played together anyway because there weren't very many children on our street. He didn't speak much French and I just didn't speak much, but our families made friends and after we moved over to Boston and they'd moved back to Vilnius we somehow managed to stay in touch with each other. We talk every now and then; he's got better at French and learnt English since we were young. He's still good to talk to, though. I think he said he has a boyfriend now –a guy called Feliks, he said. He sounds pretty okay."

"Wow. I was completely unaware you actually had friends outside of us."

"Shut up." Vash frowns at the other blonde, and Francis knows that if he was sitting closer he'd have been hit around the head.

"Honestly, Vash, you should do what you want. You know I think that. So long as you're happy, and you're positive that that's what you want to do, then I'm not going to stop you."

"Good." Vash replies brusquely, scooping up his laptop from the floor. "Because I'm about to book a flight for next week."

And so, a week later, Vash finds himself fumbling his way through Geneva International Airport after a far too long flight from Seattle and a transfer in Paris. He doesn't exactly know where to look for Toris and his boyfriend, given that the other man had just said he'd be holding a sign.

He frowns for a few moments, scanning the exit area for either him or his boyfriend, when he spots two surprisingly tall men holding a white sign between them. His surname is written on it in large, clumsy lettering, accompanied by a crudely drawn smiley face.

He sees them at the same time as Toris sees him, and he elbows the blonde beside him and waves. Vash half smiles at him and waves back, moving towards them quickly. Toris drops his half of the sign –the blonde beside him makes a disgruntled noise at this development– and hugs him tentatively.

"Wow, you're tall." Vash laughs as the other man releases him, looking up at him. Toris laughs lightly, his voice rasping a little.

His hair is still as unruly and as mousy brown as Vash remembers, but it's a lot longer now, stopping roughly just above his shoulders. It looks like he's come straight from work –there's a nametag pinned to the lapel of his brown padded jacket with  _T. Laurinaitis – Lietuvos Level 5 – Polski Level 4 – English Level 3 – Français Level 2_  written on it, along with a passport sized photograph and a tiny Lithuanian flag.

"Oh, this is Feliks." He gestures at the blonde beside him who folds his arms across his chest and eyes Vash up and down with scrutiny obvious in his green eyes. "Sorry, he gets like this with new people. He's a little shy sometimes."

The blonde is wearing a fitted, dark blue blazer over a white shirt, the collar open a little and a blue and white hound's-tooth print cravat fluffing out and away from his neck. There's a tag that reads  _Feliks – LOT Polish Airlines_  pinned on the opening of his blazer pocket. There's a heavy, white satchel hanging over his shoulder and a few maps sticking out from the pocket of his pants.

"Er, hello. I'm Vash." The blonde holds out his hand to him, and Feliks continues to eye him warily. "It's nice to meet you?"

He sounds more dubious than he means to, but Feliks doesn't seem to notice and reaches out to gingerly shake his hand.

"Feliks, but I guess you knew that." He shakes Vash's hand briefly and weakly before he pulls back. "But I'd like you to know that I had totally no idea you existed until last week."

"Okay?" Vash asks awkwardly, reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ear.

"I'm glad we're on the same page." Feliks grins, leans forward to grab him by the arm and drag him towards the exit. "Now, let me tell you about the awesome hotel my boss put us up in. I asked for two rooms and they said it was totally okay, so you're staying in this cute little room on the ninth floor with a really great view of the city. I don't know if you've ever seen it from kind of above before but it's  _so_ picturesque and-"

"Fel." Toris interjects, trailing after the two of them and reaching out to tap his boyfriend on the arm. "I told you, Vash is  _from_ Geneva. He probably knows more about the city than you do."

"Oh." Feliks deflates a little and twists a few strands of his hair around his finger. "Sorry, I kind of ramble sometimes. I work with Polish tourists and they kind of like to know a lot about  _everything_ , so I forget that not everyone cares. Sorry."

He looks a little sheepish and flags down one of the taxis by the airport exit, bundling Vash and Toris into the vehicle before he clambers into the front, loudly instructing the driver to take them to their hotel in broken, thickly accented French. When the driver predictably doesn't understand and Feliks is about to start shouting, Toris leans in and corrects the blonde, and the driver nods and pulls away from the sidewalk.

"So you're from here?" Feliks asks, turning around in his seat to stare at Vash.

"Yes. I haven't been back in a while, though. It must have been about three years, now. I haven't had much time around college and work and everything."

"You know, I definitely expect a tour of the city now that I know you lived here." Feliks comments offhandedly, waving his hands around almost wildly. Toris stares at him, shakes his head a little and starts digging through the pockets of his jacket for something.

"I lived here sixteen years ago." Vash corrects him, rolling his eyes a little. "I'm going to assume that a lot of things have changed since then. Things have probably changed since my last visit too."

"Screw that. You still probably know more about this place than I do."

"Well, there are a lot of museums. And there's this water fountain type thing called the Jet d'Eau –it's where the lake empties out into the Rhone river, you can't really miss it, it's kind of huge– and it's one of the biggest fountains in the world. There's CERN, you've probably heard of it, but that's just outside the city itself in the next town over. It's a massive particle physics laboratory and it has a Large Hadron Collider and some really remarkable things in there –I won't bore you with the details, but it's really fascinating."

"You're still showing us around." Feliks interrupts him before he can continue on, effectively silencing him with a very flamboyant wave of his hand. Vash raises his eyebrows at the other blonde and turns to Toris, who has his hand firmly pressed over his eyes like he's embarrassed.

"Yes, he's always like this." He tells Vash in a quiet, barely there whisper when he spots the blonde looking at him with curious, inquisitive eyes. "Sometimes he's okay, other times he's –well, he's like this. He gets really anxious around new people, you see, so he puts his guard up. His loud, obnoxious guard."

"So I should get used to it?"

"Yes, probably. At least until he gets to know you a little better. He's probably jealous, too. Since we've known each other for longer than I've been with or even known him, there's a chance he probably thinks we might have some 'relationship' or something. He gets like this with all of my friends, though."

"So he's the jealous type, then?"

"Yes, I'd say so. Everyone I consider a friend he's dubious of –I used to suspect it was largely due to his shyness, but I guessed wrong, apparently."

"You know, I didn't even know you  _had_ a boyfriend. The last time we spoke you weren't even looking." Vash points out, fiddling with a few strands of his hair as he thinks. Toris nods, running his fingers through the roots of his bangs and pushing them back so that they fall in with the rest of his hair.

"I wasn't. I wasn't even  _really_  looking when I met Feliks, to be honest. I was in Latvia with university doing some studies on Baltic languages, and he was there on holiday with his friends, but he was looking into local history, too. So, I was in one of the libraries, looking for a Latvian dictionary, and he happened to be there looking for a book on tourist landmarks and notable locations. We sort of bumped into each other between the bookcases, and he tried to flirt with me through his shyness and I suppose I was flattered, so we exchanged phone numbers, and here we are a year later."

"That's quite sweet, actually." Vash muses, looking at Feliks for a long moment. "I can't really imagine him being romantic, to be honest with you."

"Neither could I." Toris agrees with a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "He is, actually, after you get past the selfishness and everything."

"Are you two talking about me?" Feliks huffs, snapping around in his seat to stare at the two of them, one after another, twisting his hair around his fingers like he's self-conscious.

"Maybe a little." Toris admits with a small smile, and Feliks pouts back at him. Toris leans forward slightly and pecks him on the lips, and even though it isn't much, it seems to calm Feliks tremendously. The blonde sighs softly, but he doesn't seem annoyed, and settles back into his seat and starts flicking through the guidebook he'd dug out from his bag.

"Anyway, what about you? Are you still single?" Toris asks, leaning back into his seat and surveying the other man.

"Yes. I haven't really been looking much myself, to be honest. My mother is still insistent that I try and go out with Francis, though."

"He's the French one you told me about, isn't he?"

"Yes. He's in some kind of bizarre on-off relationship with an Englishman that I'm not even going to try and explain."

"Ah." Toris laughs a little –somehow even that is accented with his unmistakeable thick drawl– and looks back at him. "One of those relationships. I know those."

"Yeah. They're not fun people to be around, to be honest. And my best friend just got married, and him and his wife are on their honeymoon in France, of all places, which is part of the reason I came over here."

"You're in love with his wife?" Toris asks, frowning a little as he regards Vash with a confused look in his blue-green eyes. The blonde laughs harshly.

"I wish it was that simple." Vash shakes his head. "No, I'm in love with him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, guys! I hope everyone had a marvellous time celebrating (I was truly British about the whole thing and got roaring drunk, channelling my German/Irish heritage something shameful) :')
> 
> Also, surprise, more characters! I thought we needed some LietPol up in here, and I adore the idea of LietSwiss friendship so sod it, here we are.
> 
> The only major thing in this chapter is the Levels described on Toris' badge thing -basically, they're language fluency levels that are used professionally. L2 is 'limited working proficiency', basically the speaker can handle most social situations and is developing an accent that is still often faulty. L3 is 'professional working proficiency' meaning that the speaker has a pretty thorough vocabulary and can properly hold their own in a conversation, and they have an accent that, while good, is often obviously foreign. L4 is near-complete fluency and accuracy, making rare mistakes, but is still very rarely taken for a native speaker. And, of course, L5 is being a native speaker or having speaking proficiency equal to that of a native speaker.
> 
> I'll spare you the really dull details, but if you're interested it's all on Wikipedia somewhere.
> 
> (Also, I'm going to take the opportunity now to point out that I've never been to Geneva, or even Switzerland (most of my knowledge is based on my boyfriend having taken a three-day trip once), so if I get something wrong in the coming chapters, let me know and I'll fix it c: )


	19. Chapter 19

Roderich and Elizabeta arrive home from their honeymoon about a week later, and are unpacking their bags when Roderich decides to let Vash and Francis know they're home. They'd arrived at their apartment to find their refrigerator fully stocked, with the addition of a few fancy French cheeses and fresh, sugared pastries, along with an obviously expensive bottle of champagne with a note reading  _félicitations, bienvenue à la maison :)_ in Francis' neat handwriting.

"How sweet." Elizabeta muses, gripping the champagne by its neck and moving towards the dining room cabinet in search of glasses. "We'll have to thank them."

Roderich nods in agreement, taking the two glasses she hands him and setting them down on the table. She opens the bottle and carefully pours out the wine.

"Well, to us, I guess." She offers him a glass and he takes it, chinking them together quietly.

"Yes; to us."

They smile at each other and take a quick drink each. Roderich sets his glass back down on the table, guides her to do the same before he settles his hands on her waist and tugs her in close to him. He kisses her, slowly at first, and she smiles against his lips and wraps her arms around his neck to pull him closer still. She kisses him for a long few moments before pulling back and sliding her hands to cup his face.

"You'd better thank Vash and Francis for this." She says, tapping him on the sides of his face before pulling away from him and picking up her champagne glass again. "It was very nice of them to do this for us, considering we only asked them to keep an eye on the apartment and collect all the mail for us."

"I'll text Vash now." Roderich replies with a firm nod, digging in the pocket of his dark grey jeans for his cell phone.

"Shouldn't you call him?" Elizabeta cocks her head at him, watching her husband with almost confused green eyes.

"Vash doesn't really like phone calls." Roderich explains briefly as he produces his cell phone from his pocket and fumbles with the touch screen to text the blonde in question quickly. "I think they make him nervous."

"Huh." Elizabeta frowns, her perfectly groomed eyebrows knitting together. "He doesn't really seem like the type."

"I know." Roderich shrugs, tapping a few more letters and then pressing  _send_ before looking back at her. "A lot of people seem shocked by it. He's naturally a reclusive and kind of grumpy person, though, so it's not that surprising, really."

Elizabeta makes a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat and sets her glass down again, reaching out to grab Roderich's wrist.

"Are you done?"

"Yes, why?" Roderich tucks his cell phone back into his pocket and regards her with a curious expression, pushing his glasses up his nose with his free hand.

"Good." She smiles at him coyly, tugging her mousy brown hair over one shoulder with her free hand. "Because we need to unpack."

Roderich is sprawled out over their bed a few hours later when he remembers that he never checked to see if Vash had texted him back. He leans down to the floor, extending long, pale fingers out to reach for his pants. He fumbles a little finding the pockets, but produces his cell phone after a few moments.

"What are you doing?" Elizabeta grumbles from beside him, tugging the blankets up over her chest as she rolls over to face him, frowning at him.

"Seeing if Vash has replied. He hasn't." Roderich glowers at his phone, pushing his fingers through his bangs and pushing them back from his face. "That's odd. He's usually quite good at replying quickly."

"Then go and see him." Elizabeta comments, sitting herself up and reaching for her floral hair barrette on the bedside table. "He might not have looked at his phone recently, or something."

"That's not like him, though." Roderich kicks his feet out of bed and leans down to reach for his boxers on the floor. He tugs them onto his legs and wriggles a little to settle the elastic on his waist. Elizabeta laughs at him from where she sits, and he turns and frowns at her a little.

"Stop laughing." He huffs, tugging his pants up his legs and fumbling with his belt. "Something could've happened to him."

"You know that's incredibly unlikely." Elizabeta scoffs, rolling her eyes at him and flopping back into the bed, reaching for her book on the table beside her and opening it. "He's so careful I'd be surprised if he's ever so much as fallen over by accident."

"I still think I should go and check." Roderich replies quickly, fastening the last button on his shirt and tugging his dark purple knit sweater over his head. He rolls the sleeves back and fiddles with the cuffs of his shirt and rolls them back too.

"So go." Elizabeta rolls her eyes again, laughing a little from behind her book. "I don't mind. I'll still be here when you get back."

Roderich half smiles at her, leaning down to kiss her on the top of the head before he heads for the doorway.

"I'll be back soon. I'll let you know if anything happens." He says as he tucks his feet into the boots that he'd abandoned just outside the door.

"You do that." She laughs at him, and he shakes his head at her in soft disdain.

He walks the few blocks over to Francis and Vash's apartment, since he'd drunk a little champagne and he's quite sure needs the walk after two weeks of gorging himself on expensive, calorie heavy French delicacies.

He buzzes the doorbell, and Francis' voice crackles through the cheap speaker.

"Oui?"

"Hey, it's Roderich."

"Oh." Francis sounds surprised, and makes a curious noise in the back of his throat. "Hold on, I'll let you in."

There's a buzzing sound and the door in front of him unlocks, so he makes his way inside and climbs the few flights of stairs up to their actual front door.

Francis answers almost immediately, regarding him with an interested but confused expression as he looks him up and down.

"Come in." He says, pulling the door wide open and gesturing for him to follow. "Might I be so rude as to ask why you're here?"

"Vash isn't answering his texts. I was just wondering if he was okay."

Francis' frown deepens, and he eyes the brunette almost warily.

"He  _is_ in a different time zone to us." Francis comments, glancing down at his wrist and inspecting his watch. "There's a good chance he's asleep."

"Why is he in a different time zone?" Roderich scowls at the Frenchman, and the blonde eyeballs him sternly.

"Didn't he tell you?" The blonde cocks his head, clearly confused by something. "Hm. That's interesting."

"Didn't he tell me  _what_?"

"He flew home. Last week, actually." Francis explains briefly and jerkily, gesturing a little with his hands. "I'd have thought he'd have told you."

"But even so, if he's at home, why would he be asleep?" Roderich stares at Francis for a few moments before looking down at his own watch. "It's only about ten in Boston."

"He's not  _in_ Boston." Francis points out like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "It's nearly four in the morning where he is."

"Where the hell is he?" Roderich narrowly stops himself from shouting in the Frenchman's face, and the blonde shakes his head at him, clearly thinking that's he's a complete idiot.

"What the bloody hell is going on in here?" Arthur's voice suddenly rises from the sitting room doorway, and both of them turn to stare at him. "Jesus Christ. You people are insane."

He shakes his head and raises his hands to excuse himself and disappears into the kitchen, presumably to brew another pot of tea.

"Francis." Roderich says quietly, and the blonde whips his head back around to look at him. "Where is he? And why didn't he tell me?"

Francis sighs tersely, pinching the bridge of his nose and ushering the brunette properly inside and towards the sitting room.

"Come on. You'd better sit down."

Roderich finds himself pushed down into the sofa in their sitting room, where  _Valentine's Day_ appears to be paused on the television. Arthur reappears a few moments later and settles himself beside Francis, a steaming mug of tea in his hands.

"Vash went home." Francis explains quickly, and Arthur frowns sideways at him. Francis gives him a stern look and the other blonde nods, sinking back into the sofa and falling silent.

"Yes, I know. You told me that much."

"Be quiet for a minute, please." Francis chastises him, and Roderich closes his mouth and straightens his glasses. "When I said he'd gone home, I didn't  _mean_ he'd gone back to Boston. I didn't even mean he'd gone to Massachusetts. I meant he'd gone  _home_ , to Geneva."

"What?" Roderich asks in disbelief, frowning at the other man and sitting forward in his chair. Arthur is watching them both intently, his eyes flicking between each of their faces like he's enthralled in a particularly interesting tennis set.

There's a few beats of silence, and Roderich looks up to study Francis' eyes, the Frenchman's bright, ferocious blues meeting his own dark, angry eyes.

"But why would he go home? Why would he go to Geneva without telling me? That's not like him." Roderich frowns. Arthur takes a thoughtful sip of his tea and leans forward, setting his mug down on the carpet beside the sofa.

"I believe the reason he went back to Switzerland is largely due to the fact that he needed some time to think. Some personal space, if you will. As for why he didn't tell you, I would say that-" Arthur is cut off by Francis violently elbowing him in the ribs until he can't continue.

"What in the name of Christ was that for, you prick?" The Englishman snaps, pushing the other man away from him until he falls back against the arm of the sofa at the other side.

"Shut. Up." Francis hisses under his breath, rearranging himself next to Arthur and fixing him with the angriest glare Roderich has ever seen on the usually placid Frenchman.

"But why? He asked, I was simply explaining the situation."

Francis sighs, sitting himself back up and turning his head slightly to regard the other blonde with a look of almost utter contempt. He places his hand flat in the centre of the other man's chest and pushes him until he falls backwards and hits the back of the sofa.

"Arthur. Be quiet. I know it's hard for you, but  _mon dieu,_  close your mouth for two minutes."

The Brit huffs to himself, leans forward to swipe his mug of tea from the floor before sitting back in the sofa and scowling at the other man.

"Let me explain." Francis starts a few moments later, once he is content that Arthur isn't going to interrupt him again. "At your wedding, he told Antonio and I that he was considering going home."

Roderich looks like he's going to interject with something, but one quick eyebrow raise from the other man makes him close his mouth and look a little sheepish.

"Anyway, he said to us that he was considering returning home –to relax, and to clear his head, he told us. We encouraged him, said that he should do what he likes, and he decided to go. He has an old friend over in Europe that happened to be in town when he chose to visit, so I think he's taking the opportunity to reconnect with him."

"Did he say when he'd be home?" Roderich asks, and his voice sounds wet enough that Francis studies his expression for a long few moments before carrying on with his explanation.

"Not exactly, no." The blonde shakes his head, and Roderich visibly deflates, his shoulders sagging as he focuses on the pattern in the carpet. "He said he'd be home by the time it comes to you two graduating, though."

"Oh." The brunette sighs softly, pulling his glasses away from his face and cleaning them absently on his sweater. "That's good, I suppose."

"Don't worry yourself about it." Francis tells him quietly, leaning forward to fix the younger man with a look that is almost stern. "He'll be fine. I think he just missed it, you know? Being able to speak his native language and have people understand, just being among people  _like_ him, I suppose. I think he probably just missed Switzerland. Or Europe in general. I know I do."

Arthur nods in agreement from where he sits, moving in closer to the Frenchman beside him. Francis regards him with a quick look and smiles softly, affectionately. Roderich looks between the two of them quickly and wordlessly, and suddenly realizes that there might be more to them and their strange relationship than he'd first thought.

"I don't suppose you really know how it feels." Francis muses after a few moments of observing the other man's face. "I mean, you  _were_ born in Boston, whether you know about your Austrian heritage or not."

"But that still doesn't make any sense as to why he wouldn't tell me he was going." Roderich groans, looking up at the older man desperately. "If he just wanted to go and visit Switzerland or wherever, then why didn't he just say something? It's not like I'd mind."

"I don't think it's necessarily anything to do with you, Roderich." Arthur sits forward then, drinking the last of his tea and setting the mug back on the floor. "I think he probably just had a lot on his mind. Now, I'm not claiming to know him especially well, considering this time three months ago he basically hated me, but I think he just wanted space to think."

"But he's  _with_ someone." Roderich exclaims, shuffling in his seat so he can look at the other two men properly. "How is that space? We're over here; he could've had space if he'd wanted it."

"I don't think that's what he wanted." Arthur says, moving forward on the sofa and slyly sliding an arm around Francis' waist. The Frenchman frowns at him, but doesn't say anything.

"Then what  _did_ he want?" Roderich deflates, looking between the two of them before choosing to focus on the floor instead.

"It's not my place to say." Francis replies quietly, subconsciously leaning into Arthur as he talks. The other blonde looks at him curiously, but doesn't make an effort to move away. "If and when he's ready, he'll tell you. I'm not making that decision for him."

"He'll be okay." Arthur interjects, nodding in agreement with Francis. "He's not an idiot. He's with friends, too, so I'd hope they wouldn't let him do anything stupid."

"I suppose." Roderich replies dejectedly, humming thoughtfully to himself. "I just wish he'd talked to me."


	20. Chapter 20

"Seriously? Is that it?" Feliks whines as he looks up at the huge jet of water propelling a good four hundred feet in the air above him.

Vash sighs abruptly and frowns at the taller man with an almost despairing expression on his face. The three of them are standing on the stone jetty beside Lake Geneva, looking up at the sky and watching the water shoot up from the fountain jet and cascade back down into the lake with thunderous splashes. He'd been showing them around for about three days now, and so far he'd taken them out to CERN –which had kept Feliks surprisingly quiet– and Toris had wanted to see the Palace of Nations, so they'd gone there yesterday, and today Feliks had demanded to see 'that awesome fountain he talked about'. He'd also run into his uncle, who had spare tickets for the GSHC – ZSC Lions game that he'd given them when he realized Toris and Feliks had never witnessed the miracle of ice hockey first hand.

"Well, what did you expect?" Vash raises his eyebrow at the other blonde and shakes his head a little. "I told you it was a fountain."

"It's just water." Feliks huffs, folding his arms over the dark red jacket Toris had bundled him into that morning before they left.

"It's a  _fountain_." Vash groans exasperatedly, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Now I'd watch out if I were you –it's getting windy and if you stay standing there then there's a high possibility that you'll get soaked."

A particularly violent gust of wind sweeps past them at that moment, unsettling their hair and causing the water in the air to fly sideways and splash down onto the stone beside them. Feliks looks at the wet rock with disgust and shuffles sideways, pressing closer to Vash than he means to.

"Come on." Vash sighs, turning on his heel and walking carefully along the jetty back to the bank of the river. "I have to finish writing and mail this letter and then we can head to the stadium."

"Do we have to go?" Feliks complains loudly from behind him, and Vash shakes his head and pulls his jacket tighter over his chest.

"Yes. We're going." Toris retorts, and Vash subtly looks over his shoulder to see the brunette sliding over to his boyfriend and reaching down to hold his hand and entwine their fingers. "It'll be fun."

"But hockey's boring!" Feliks groans, dragging out the 'o' sound and pouting at Toris. The brunette sighs and pulls him in closer, pressing their arms together and smiling a little at him.

"You've never even seen a game." Toris laughs, and Feliks tries to pull away from him but Toris pulls him back.

"Neither have you." Feliks huffs, turning his head away from the other man and trying to walk away from him. Toris laughs and pulls him back, but the blonde still keeps his head away.

"Hey, come on. It'll be nice. We don't get to see much sport with our jobs."

"Fine." Feliks sulks, finally letting Toris pull him back and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Oh, Vash?" Toris says suddenly, and the younger man stops about two steps in front of them and turns to face him.

"Hm?"

"I was just thinking, we're going back to Warsaw in a few days, then I'm going on to Vilnius a few days later. Would you like to come with us?" The brunette takes the few steps so that he's level with the shorter blonde and looks at him.

"Is that a serious offer?"

"Yes, if you want to."

"Yeah, okay." Vash shrugs, reaching up to wrap his scarf tighter around his neck. "I'll let Francis know, but I think I will. If you're sure you don't mind?"

"It's fine." Toris smiles at him and pats him on the arm. "Now, hockey?"

Francis is curled up on the sofa several days later, buried under a warm, fluffy Union Jack printed blanket with Arthur, watching a rerun of some awful British sitcom from the nineties when there's an unpleasant buzzing coming from the intercom phone.

Francis grumbles and extricates himself from Arthur's legs and the blanket, fumbling his way towards the door and the phone, picking the handset up and pressing it between his cheek and his shoulder, fiddling with the coils of wire attaching the phone to the base.

"Bonjour?"

"It's me." Roderich's voice crackles through, and Francis can imagine him hunched in the doorway, pressed close to the doorframe as he shouts into the cheap speaker system. "Have you heard from Vash?"

"No, actually." Francis explains briefly, leaning back against the wall and humming to himself. "Do you want to come in?"

"Yeah, okay." Roderich replies, his voice tiny, and Francis purses his lips and hangs up the handset, pressing a button on the base and buzzing him up. There's a knock at the door and Francis leans over to press down the handle and let him in.

Roderich stumbles a little as he walks through the doorway, holding out a stack of letters in his hand.

"Here. Er, there was a lot of mail in the hall downstairs. Most of it was for you two."

Francis takes the mail from him and leads him to the sitting room, flipping through each letter and piling a few up on the coffee table in the kitchen.

"Vash, Vash, bill, Vash, me, work." He recites as he piles them separately. Arthur watches him from his position next to him on the sofa, and Roderich watches him from the doorway.

"Hm." He surveys the letter in his hand for a second. It's addressed to him, his name and address written carefully in an almost legible blue scrawl. He frowns at it, inspects the stamp and the postmark before he flips the envelope over and rips it open carefully.

"It's from Vash." He states, emptying the contents of the envelope onto the table. There's quite a few things in there, he notes –the letter itself, a few postcards and two or three loose Polaroid photographs.

"What does it say?" Roderich presses, leaning over Francis' shoulder, trying to read the letter for a second before he realizes it's in French.

"Well, it basically says that he's very much enjoying being in Switzerland again, and that he's going with Feliks and Toris to Poland, and then to Lithuania. He's considering making a stop in London before he comes home, too. He still doesn't know  _when_ he'll be home, but he hadn't realized how much he'd missed Europe in general, and that I should try and come visit France sometime soon." Francis recites slowly, translating the text from French as he goes.

He sets the letter down on the table and picks up the other items that fell out of the envelope. One of the postcards is of Lake Geneva, along with a little anecdote about how Feliks nearly got himself drowned on their first day together, and the other is of the United Nations headquarters, with a small note about how Toris had been so excited by the whole thing that they'd nearly gotten thrown out.

"Who on earth are these two?" Roderich asks in confusion as Francis tells the two stories and flicks through the photographs. One is of Vash outside a CERN building, a huge, spherical wooden structure, apparently  _The Globe of Science and Innovation_ , or so the blonde's little note tells him. Another is of Vash and a brunette none of them recognize on the bank of the lake with  _this is Toris_  written underneath it. The third and final photograph is Vash, Toris and an unfamiliar blonde outside of what looks to be a stadium with the words  _and this is Feliks. I took them to a hockey game_  written beneath it.

"Toris is the old friend of his I was talking about. I think they said they knew each other when Vash still lived in Switzerland or something. He sounds like a sweet guy, judging from all Vash has said about him." Francis muses thoughtfully, setting everything back down on the table and pulling himself to his feet. "I think I need a drink."

No one follows him as he disappears into the dining room in search of his good wine glasses.

"How come you're here?" Arthur asks Roderich with a soft frown, looking the slightly younger man up and down a few times.

"I had a fight with Elizabeta." The brunette confesses, shaking his head a little and running his fingers clumsily through his bangs. "I needed time to think."

"What was your argument about that was that bad even  _you_ walked out? You're the calmest person I know."

Roderich laughs weakly and looks up at Arthur over the top of his glasses.

"Hardly. I said that I was worried about Vash, and she got angry and I guess a little upset that I care so much about him, or so she said. I don't know why she was making it an issue, but I suppose it means something to her that doesn't bother me."

Arthur clicks his tongue thoughtfully, sitting back in his seat and fiddling with the dark grey cardigan he's wearing.

"What's going on?" Francis asks with a curious expression on his face as he re-enters the room, glass of wine in one hand and the rest of the bottle in the other.

"Roderich was just telling me that he had an argument with Elizabeta." Arthur explains quickly, throwing the blanket back and letting Francis tuck himself back in and against his side.

"Oh?" Francis feigns interest and sips at his wine, settling back against Arthur's warmth, allowing the Englishman to rest an arm around him and over his waist. "Trouble in paradise, it seems?"

Roderich doesn't say anything, instead frowning intently at his shoes like they hold some kind of answer. When he looks up at the two of them his eyes are wetter than they'd expected, his dark irises shining more than a little in the half light from the television.

"Have I been stupid?" The brunette asks quietly, his question directed more at the dark blue shag pile rug than at the two other men in the room. Francis cocks his head a little, turning awkwardly to meet Arthur's concerned green eyes. The other man sits forward slightly, but keeps his arm solid on Francis' waist, involuntarily curling his fingers around the Frenchman's hip.

"How do you mean?" Arthur asks, his voice low as he regards Roderich with a fretful, worried expression.

"I don't know." The other man confesses, sliding his glasses away from his face and wiping the lenses absently on the bottom of his shirt. "I just feel like I'm missing something."

 _Or someone_ , Francis adds bitterly in his mind, staying silent and continuing to take long, lingering sips of his wine. Arthur gestures for the other man to continue talking.

"I just don't understand why he's being so distant lately." Roderich sighs, hanging his glasses from his finger by one of their arms, rubbing at his eyes and twisting a few strands of his bangs around his fingers. "And I don't understand why me being worried about my best friend warrants my  _wife_ shouting at me that I care too much."

"Look, Roderich," Arthur starts, blinking quickly before looking back at the twenty year old sitting across from him, "I don't claim to understand the inner workings of Vash's brain –I don't think anyone actually does, quite frankly– but I think he was, and probably still  _is_ , very emotionally confused about a lot of things in his life. His trip out to Europe is likely just to help him get away from anyone who could confuse him further."

Arthur focuses on Roderich and suddenly notices how downtrodden the younger man seems. His shoulders are down, his head practically in his hands as he shakes, potentially with tears.

"Whether it was their fault or not." Arthur finishes, and Roderich looks up at him with watery, unhappy eyes like he's finally understood. Evidently, though, this isn't true, as he sighs wetly and pushes his glasses back on.

"Did I do something wrong?" Roderich asks, so oblivious and clueless that Francis has to bite his lip and focus completely on the red liquid in his glass to stop himself from throwing something at the younger man, or worse, screaming  _of course it was something you did, you insufferable ass, open your eyes for once and you might realize how much he loves you_. Arthur seems to notice the tension rising in him, because his hand slides from his hip and falls to hold his own, twisting their fingers together.

"Do you feel like you did?" Arthur asks, squeezing Francis' hand as the Frenchman tenses up again.

"I don't know." Roderich admits desperately, burying his head in his hands again. "He's so hard to read! I think we're doing okay and the next thing I know he's flying halfway across the world without so much as a goodbye!"

Arthur looks a little taken aback, largely because he hadn't suspected it ran as deep as it did on Roderich's behalf. He smiles slightly to himself, silently realizing that maybe Vash's plight wasn't as hopeless as he had first thought.

"Can I be honest with you for a second?" Arthur asks, and Roderich looks up to face him, nodding weakly as he holds their eye contact.

"If you feel this bad over it –which, obviously you do, because you're practically crying on Francis' sofa, for crying out loud –then maybe you should try talking to  _him_ about these things, rather than us. We can only help you so much."

"I want to, but-" Roderich starts but cuts himself off with a heavy, unhappy exhale. "But I'm worried he won't want to talk."

Francis makes a face at this, carefully drinks the last of the wine in his glass before finally setting it down on the coffee table and sitting up properly. He stays flush against Arthur's side, their fingers knotted together under the blanket.

"You don't think he wants to talk to you?" His voice comes out soft, and it'd be threatening were it not for the curiousness in his eyes as he surveys the brunette's face. Roderich shakes his head, keeping his eyes locked with Francis'.

"No." Roderich replies bluntly, shaking his head slightly. "If he did want to talk to me, I think he'd have said something by now."

Francis shakes his head softly, laughing lightly in the back of his throat.

"What's so funny?" Roderich huffs, glowering at the Frenchman.

"Oh, you could not be  _more_  wrong, mon ami." He shakes his head and absently plays with the soft waves of blonde hair falling at the side of his face. "I assure you, Vash wants to talk to you."

"He does?" Roderich actually sounds shocked, and Francis nods. "Are you sure?"

"I'm positive." Francis replies with a firm nod. "Just wait until he gets home. He'll talk to you then, I know it."

"Well, if you're sure." Roderich says, glancing quickly at his watch. "I think I should be going. I've been gone long enough for Liz not to throw things at me when I get back. Thanks for the advice."

Francis raises his hand and smiles loosely, making to get up to go and let him out.

"Don't." Roderich smiles, sniffling and wiping at his eyes under his glasses. "I'll see myself out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few not-so-fun facts for this chapter:  
> the fountain thing that Vash, Toris and Feliks are seeing at the start is the Jet d'Eau -and, according to my boyfriend, who has seen it first hand, it's quite 'crap', to use his exact words. It's basically a huge jet of water in the middle of Lake Geneva.
> 
> GSHC and ZSC Lions are two ice hockey clubs in Switzerland. GSHC (Geneve-Servette Hockey Club) are based Geneva, and ZSC Lions (Zurcher Schlittschuh Club Lions) are, obviously, based in Zurich. They're two of the biggest teams in Switzerland, to my knowledge.
> 
> I didn't realize until my boyfriend went with his physics class last year, but certain areas/buildings of CERN are open to the public/tourists a lot of the time, one of these being the Globe of Science and Innovation. Not that I'd ever want to go personally, but I always figured it was all closed off.
> 
> Even less-fun fact -the Palace of Nations story is something that very nearly happened to my boyfriend's class when they were in Geneva. Their teacher got rather exuberant and was about to pretend to give a speech until an angry Swiss man told them all off and threatened to throw them out.
> 
> This is why you shouldn't let British people go on holiday.


	21. Chapter 21

The two of them sit there in near total silence as Roderich excuses himself, disappearing quietly out of the door, the soft click of the front door closing behind him echoing gently through the apartment.

"I hope they're okay." Arthur says after a few minutes of nothing but the whir of the DVD player filling the room. "I'd hate to see them split up now."

"I wouldn't." Francis scoffs, noting to himself that Arthur is still holding his hand. The Englishman stares at him, as if in disbelief. "Don't get me wrong, I like the both of them enough, I've just had enough of coping with Vash being as miserable as he is at their hands. Not like they'd realize if it hit them in the face, though."

"Harsh." Arthur stifles a laugh, and Francis looks at him with a blank expression on his features. "What?"

"In what way is it 'harsh'?" Francis glowers at him, tries to pull his hand away and leans down to reach for the bottle of wine on the floor. "I care more about Vash's emotional wellbeing than I do Elizabeta's, purely on the grounds that I've known him for what is essentially his whole life. I remember him being a stumbling two year old who fell into banks of snow on a regular basis. I can't even remember how  _old_  she is most days, and I'm expected to wish her relationship well over him? I don't think so."

"I didn't know you felt so strongly about the whole thing." Arthur makes a face at the other blonde and Francis surveys him with curious, hard blue eyes.

"What, did you think I was just 'lying back and thinking of Paris' or something? I could hardly sit back and watch it all unfold without  _feeling_  anything, could I?" Francis replies, almost haughtily, calming a little as his hand settles around the neck of the bottle, lifting it to his lips. "He's been the closest thing to a best friend I've had in the last few months. I haven't really had anyone else to turn to besides him and Antonio."

"I'm sorry." Arthur says quietly, eyes downcast as he squeezes Francis' hand lightly. "For everything."

Francis looks at him, head cocked slightly to one side and groomed eyebrows knitting together.

"Excusez-moi?" He says, pressing his lips into a thin line and looking the other man up and down. "A few months late, aren't you?"

"I know, and I-" Arthur stops, looks at Francis with wet eyes and tries to pull his hand away. Francis holds on tighter. "I'll go, if that's what you want. I understand if you don't want to see me –god knows you shouldn't."

"Arthur," Francis replies, tugging at his hand so that their thighs press together, "that is the  _last_ thing I want."

"But-" Arthur starts, cutting himself off with a shake of the head before fixing the Frenchman with a long, desperate look. "You should hate me."

"I should." Francis admits, shaking his head softly, and Arthur shrinks back from him, focusing on the floor with guilty eyes. "But I don't."

"But why  _not_?" Arthur asks, whipping around to stare at Francis. There are a few tears slowly sliding over the tops of his cheeks as their eyes lock. Francis stares at him, shakes his head softly and pulls his hand away from Arthur's. He reaches up and gingerly wipes away his tears with the pads of his thumbs.

"Because I love you,  _stupide._ " Francis replies, laughing wetly and pressing a light kiss to his forehead.

"I don't understand why you still do, though." Arthur counters. "I wouldn't love me. Not after everything I've done to you, after all the complete  _crap_ I must've put you through, god, you must've felt like shite, and you still love me? I don't deserve to even-"

"November fourteenth, 2007." Francis interrupts him, sliding his hands down Arthur's chest to hold his hands. "Do you remember?"

"Remember what?"

"It was the first time we met. You'd come in to the little bakery I was placed in by culinary school –I was making a croquembouche behind the counter so I didn't see you at first, but then you came and gave me your order, and as I ran it through I realized you were beautiful."

Arthur laughs lightly, pale blush dusting his cheeks as he closes his eyes.

"Then I brought your order to you –a piping hot cappuccino and two pecan slices, I still remember– and saw you were reading a Rabelais novel. I told you that I loved that series. You didn't realize I was French, not at first, and you asked what I thought of the accuracy of the translation, and you were surprised when I said I'd never read it. Then I told you that I read it at school in France, and you understood. You left eventually, but not before I'd managed to write my name and number on a slip of paper and hide it in your book. You called the next day and we bickered about meaning and illusion, and we decided we could try and make it work between us, even if I was still in culinary school and you were busy with your precious History degree."

"Hey, that history degree is getting me places!" Arthur huffs indignantly, with a wet laugh. "Just... Slowly."

"You've been at that museum bossing Heracles and Sadik for over a year now, sweetheart." Francis laughs, tugging Arthur into a loose hug. "I've seen snails move up career paths faster than you do."

"I resent that." Arthur grumbles into Francis' chest, absently sliding his free arm around the other's back. Francis laughs at him and leans his head down, pressing a feather light kiss to the top of Arthur's head.

They sit there, entwined in each other and stock still for a minute or two until Arthur coughs weakly, looking up through his hair at the older man.

"Are we doing this?" He asks quietly, and Francis closes his eyes, but stays still where he is.

"If you want to." Francis murmurs, hesitant and quiet against Arthur's hair, subconsciously tightening his grip on the other man's waist. "But I –I just want you to know that once you're back, I probably won't be able to let you go again. Not now, not ever. You'll have to be able to cope with me "

Arthur looks up and shuffles carefully forwards, looking Francis straight in the eyes.

"I think I can live with that." He mumbles, taking in Francis' soft smile of content before leaning in and pressing their lips together. Francis doesn't react for a fraction of second until he realizes with a blissful smile that  _Arthur wants this_ and kisses him back. Arthur smiles against his lips and slides his arms up and around Francis' neck, kissing him harder.

"Arthur, wait." Francis pulls away –even though it pains him to do so– and looks at the other blonde firmly. "What about Alfred? You've done this to me before, and I know how horrible it feels. No matter how much I might dislike him, I wouldn't wish that pain on anyone."

"We broke up. Last week, actually. He said I loved someone else much more than I'd ever love him. Said they loved me more than he could ever hope to. I didn't need to ask to know he meant you." Arthur punctuates his sentences with soft kisses, first on the Frenchman's lips, then peppered across his angular, stubbly jaw. Francis relaxes, the tiniest of smiles twitching up the corners of his mouth as he pulls Arthur in closer and kisses him hard.

Neither of them realize what they're doing as Arthur shifts and slides his knees either side of Francis' hips, effectively straddling him, keeping their lips firmly pressed together. Francis smiles absently against Arthur's mouth, shifting his hands to the younger man's waist, fingers pressing distractedly into the soft indent of the Englishman's hipbones.

Arthur's mouth quirks up into the tiniest of smirks as Francis' delicate touch slides across his stomach and starts fiddling with the intricate buttons on his cardigan.

"Come on." Arthur mumbles, stumbling to his feet and tugging Francis up by his wrist. Francis smiles wryly, leans in to kiss him again, and allows himself to be pulled up the stairs to his room and his bed. Their cell phones sit forgotten on the coffee table.

Or at least, they sit forgotten until just past nine thirty the next morning, when Francis ventures downstairs naked on a quest for tea. He's fumbling through the kitchen cupboards in search of the fancy Earl Grey tea leaves Arthur likes when he hears something vibrating furiously in the sitting room. When he investigates, his phone informs him that Vash has attempted to call him three times –he's also received a voicemail and two texts, which he assumes can also be attributed to the angry blonde in question. As he thinks, his phone starts vibrating again.

"Allô?"

"Where the hell have you been?" Vash grumbles down the line, his glower practically audible.

"Sweetheart, it's not even ten in the morning yet."

"It is, you half-wit! It's-" He stops himself, makes a small noise of disgruntlement and sighs before he continues. "Oh. Shit. I forgot, sorry."

"Have you been drinking?"

"A little." Vash admits with a quiet sigh. "They make good vodka here."

"Why am I not surprised." Francis laughs, running his fingers through his hair as he returns to the kitchen when he remembers that he promised Arthur tea. "I must say, I'm surprised you're calling, actually. Given that you haven't properly spoken to me since I left you at the airport."

"I needed to talk to you about something." Vash clarifies in a low tone. "I spoke to Roderich."

"Oh?" Francis barely disguises his shock as his fishes out the box from the cupboard and sets the kettle boiling. "What about? I thought you'd gone away to clear your head of him."

"I have, but that's not what he texted me about." Vash continues. "No, he asked me if I knew what was going on with you and Arthur, actually. He sounded confused. And I must admit I'm not sure I understand, either."

"What is there to understand? We've been talking a lot since you've been away, and things just... well, it just happened. It makes sense, and I'm happy. Why is there a problem?"

"Er, Alfred, maybe?" Vash interjects snappily.

"They broke up. Arthur told me."

"And you don't think he could be lying?" Vash retorts. "Maybe that's what he told Alfred, before they got together. You know, ' _oh, I had a boyfriend but we split up, come fuck me so I forget about him_ '? I wouldn't put it past Arthur, to be honest."

"And what would you know?" Francis snaps.

"He's cheated on you before, what's to say that he's not cheating on Alfred with you? What makes you think that he wouldn't?"

"I  _know_ Arthur." Francis argues. "He wouldn't do something like that. And how would you know, anyway? It's not like you've ever been with anyone to know! Love is different when you're in it, and you have no idea."

"Bullshit." Vash spits, rage palpable in his voice. "That's  _utter_   _bullshit_ , and you know it. I've been in love with the same person for practically half my life! And he never showed even a hint of interest in me and look where that ended up! He never noticed me, and then he got married!"

"And you expect me to pity you?" Francis huffs, finishing making Arthur's tea and heading upstairs. He smiles fondly at the Brit, who's half asleep curled up in the blankets. He presses a soft kiss to the other man's forehead and Arthur's lips quirk up into a slight smile. Francis sets down his tea, scoops up his boxers from the floor and tugs them on.

"Well, no, but-" Vash says after a long pause.

"Because I don't." Francis interrupts him, shutting his bedroom door and returning downstairs. "You can't rely on someone else to notice your feelings. You could've taken the initiative and asked him out when he was still single. You could've just kissed him."

"And how would I have explained that?" Vash replies incredulously. "It's harder than you realize, when you're in love with your best friend and all you want to do is kiss them and hold them and  _love them_ , but you  _can't_ , because all it'll do is hurt them and probably fuck up your entire relationship with them. It's just not worth the risk."

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't have  _tried_ , Vash. What's the worst that could happen?"

"I could've lost him. For good. No amount of a relationship is worth that. I couldn't have lived with myself." Vash admits quietly, and Francis suddenly realizes how wet his voice sounds.

"Surely that would be better than not knowing?" Francis says softly. "Anything has to be better than never knowing, at least."

"You don't-" Vash starts, then cuts himself off quickly with a heavy, rattling exhale. "You don't understand. Never mind."

The phone line goes dead and Francis pulls the phone away from his ear and frowns at it. He's grumbling under his breath in sputtered French when a quiet cough from the front door startles him. He turns, standing quickly and marching in the direction of the door.

It's only Roderich, though, so he relaxes soon enough and raises an eyebrow at him. The brunette looks sheepish and runs his fingers through his hair.

"Er, I left my jacket last night. Have I missed something?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry anyone who wanted this to culminate in USUK -as much as I ship it I'll always ship FrUK that bit more, especially as a British person and yeah. I'm going to shut up now before I upset/offend/come off like I'm ship bashing which is the last thing I want to do uwu.
> 
> also if anyone can guess/knows the what happened in Anglo-French 'history' on November 14th gets cookies or a drabblefic something. Hint: it was fairly recent, but was before 2005, and it involves a body of water.
> 
> next update might be up a little later than usual due to two reasons; one, I have a big scary A Level exam in two days that I have to study for, and two -it's sort of not finished yet. ouo


	22. Chapter 22

"How much did you hear?" Francis asks quietly, suddenly aware that he's standing in the middle of his sitting room in Arthur's boxers in front of the love of his roommate's life.

"Enough, I think." Roderich nods tersely, straightening his glasses on his nose. "Sorry for just barging in –Nicolau from downstairs let me in. I heard something about how he should have tried something anyway –your phone speaker is quite loud and I think I heard him say he loved someone too much to do anything. Who were you talking to?"

Francis exhales loudly and shakily, trying to calm himself as he stares at Roderich. He thinks himself lucky that he didn't come in a minute or two sooner, otherwise their entire cover would've been blown and Vash would never have forgiven him.

"Vash. I was talking to Vash, not that it matters." Francis replies brusquely, rearranging the elastic of his boxers as an excuse to look away from Roderich's dark, steely gaze.

"Of course it matters." Roderich retorts, huffing to himself and pulling his glasses away from his face, making to clean them on his sweater. "Now, for god's sake, clothe yourself. Then I expect you to explain this situation in full detail."

Francis moves shiftily, carding his fingers through his hair as he shuffles back upstairs, almost guiltily. Roderich sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose before returning his glasses to his face and heading for the kitchen.

Francis opens the door to his room and finds Arthur propped up in bed, tea in one hand and a dog-eared copy of  _Le Petit Prince_ in the other.

"Are you coming back to bed?" He asks, not looking away from the pages as he talks. Francis smiles affectionately, leaning over to kiss the top of his head.

"I wish I could." Francis admits, and Arthur looks away from his book to frown at him. "Roderich's downstairs. He doesn't seem pleased."

"Oh, marvellous." Arthur sighs, closing his book and drinking the last of his tea. "I don't suppose he-"

"Know about us?" Francis continues for him. Arthur nods. "Yes, I think he does. Or, he knows enough to text Vash and ask what's going on with us, in any case."

"Oh. Crap." Arthur sits up properly at this, running his fingers through his hair and fixing Francis with a concerned look. "So Vash knows?"

"It would appear so, yes. So the whole 'don't tell Vash' plan we had went  _excellently_."

"Well, that's just great." Arthur grumbles. "He'll probably string me up by my sodding bollocks when he gets home!"

"No, he won't. We've talked about it."

"And?"

"He seemed worried. He thought you were cheating on Alfred with me, like you cheated on me with Alfred." Francis explains. Arthur frowns at him, opens his mouth like he's going to respond. "I told him you wouldn't."

"He didn't believe you?" Arthur looks away, his hand fumbling absently over the covers to find Francis' and twist their fingers together. Francis draws their hands up and presses a feather light kiss to the back of Arthur's hand.

"I don't think he did. I tried to explain it to him, but I doubt that he was listening to me. While he might be starting to like you as a person, I don't think he properly trusts you yet. Not after everything that happened before."

"I'm sorry." Arthur says again, sheepishly twisting the fingers of his free hand in his hair. "I can't say I blame him, but it's still annoying that my boyfriend's roommate doesn't trust me."

"Boyfriend?" Francis says, voice high with hope as he stares at the other blonde. "We're– you mean you want to get back together?"

"What do you mean 'get back together'?" Arthur frowns at him. "I thought we  _were_ back together. Honestly, Francis, do you need me to try and say it in your ridiculous language for you to-"

Francis cuts him off mid-rant with a searing kiss, cupping Arthur's face almost reverently.

"The bloody hell was that for?" Arthur asks when they pull apart. "Not that I mind much, but still."

"I just-" Francis smiles at him, all big and lopsided, looking up through his soft curls. "I just love you."

"I knew that much, you great  _cretin_. For what it's worth, I love you too."

Francis grins then, happily kissing Arthur again, before pulling him out of bed and quietly noting his lack of clothes.

"The love of Vash's life is downstairs, just to remind you." Francis says in a sing-song voice, moving across the room to his wardrobe and digging through his clothes. "Are you going to get dressed? I think I could use the moral support on this one."

"Ugh, fine." Arthur rummages through the pile of clothes they'd shed in a rush the night previously. "Where are my pants?"

Francis smirks inwardly, pulling a pair of dark red jeans from his wardrobe.

"Oh my god." Arthur laughs lightly, looking up at the Frenchman. "Well, I must admit they look good on you."

"Why, thank you." Francis smirks at him, tugging his jeans ungracefully up his legs and falling back onto the bed.

"Suppose I'll just have to wear yours then. Whichever stupid designer brand they are, I'm sure they'll suffice." Arthur digs through his underwear drawer until he finds an acceptable pair. "Honestly, though, I don't see the difference between Wal-Mart pants and bloody Armani ones. And my arse certainly doesn't feel a difference."

Francis laughs again, heading back to his wardrobe and grabbing a white woollen sweater over his head. He finds something and throws it to Arthur.

"You can wear that, if you want."

He finds a pair of jeans that don't fit him too well and offers them to him.

"Here. Since I don't think you're the type to wear an outfit two days in a row."

"You're thinking of yourself there." Arthur laughs, pulling the t shirt over his head and straightening it out before looking down at the print. "Oh, I  _hate_ you."

"No, Arthur. You love me. And you 'heart' Paris, apparently." Francis hides his laugh in his hands, albeit badly, and heads towards the door. "I'm going to make sure Roderich hasn't destroyed my kitchen. Come down when you're ready. I'll make you tea."

He heads downstairs and finds Roderich in the foyer, a glass of water in his hand, examining the photographs on the dresser.

"You took your time." He chastises him, moving away from the dresser but looking shiftily back at an old photograph of Vash and Lilli when they'd visited Switzerland. Francis smiles inwardly.

"Be patient, Edelstein." Francis rolls his eyes, beckoning him through to the sitting room and settling on the sofa. "Now, what did you hear?"

"I heard him say something about just wanting to kiss and love someone, but not being able to because it would hurt them? And you told him he should've tried anyway."

Francis sighs in relief, because Vash's secret lives another day and he won't be killed when he comes home.

"What?"

"Well, it's simple." Francis explains with an offhand shrug. "Vash is in love."

" _What?_ " Roderich replies incredulously, and if he'd have had water in his mouth, he'd have likely spat it in Francis' face. "That's ridiculous."

"Love is never ridiculous." Francis shakes his head. "Quite honestly, I'm surprised you never noticed."

"Surely he would've told me." Roderich huffs, running his fingers absently through his bangs. "I'm his best friend."

"Oui, I know that. But perhaps you are not the best person to speak to for love advice. After all, he knows moi."

Roderich glowers over his glasses at him, and Francis just laughs.

"Roderich, understand this. He's never been in a relationship before –he's not to know how it works, or how he's supposed to feel. He's very conflicted. They've been friends for many years, him and his  _love_ , shall we say, and he's struggling to understand what to feel."

"So this person he likes, I know them too? I feel like I should do something, make them realize that they're hurting him."

"Like what? Battering them?" Arthur comments from the doorway, standing there with a mug of tea in his hands and a wry smirk on his face.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean that you'd beat them up. Because I'd pay good money to see that."

"No, not like that." Roderich shakes his head. "Just something to make them see."

"Frankly, I'd quite like to do the same." Francis mumbles, but neither of the other men hear him.

"I should probably go. I'll be late for orchestra practice." Roderich announces after a few minutes of silence, standing and straightening his clothes. "Let me know if you hear from him."

Francis nods politely, and Roderich excuses himself.

"Can I ask you something?" Arthur says, leaning around the door to look at Francis.

"Mm?"

"How the hell haven't you punched his lights out yet?"

Roderich is distracted in orchestra for the whole of the next week, missing notes and throwing everyone else off, until Berwald gets so annoyed with him that he ejects him with a smack of his double bass bow and tells him to 'come back when you can concentrate' in that ominous tone of his.

He trudges home, plants himself on the sofa with his laptop and sets about writing one of his art history papers. Elizabeta arrives home two or three hours later, from a late Psychology lecture and a shift at the cafe, with a letter in her hand.

"This came for you." She holds out the letter, its brown envelope neatly between two fingers. He takes it and examines it, frowning at the Polish postmark before he spots the telltale squashed handwriting spelling out his address.

He rips it open carefully, allowing a few pieces of paper to fall out onto his keyboard. He unfolds the letter first, taking in his best friend's clumsy scrawl before he settles to read it.

_Hey, Roderich_

_Greetings from Warsaw, I suppose. It's cold here, and all they do is drink their insanely strong vodka. Feliks has been in a constant cycle of drunk and hungover since we arrived –he claims he's showing me what it truly means to be Polish, but I don't believe him. But as nice as Warsaw is, it's not Seattle, and it's not home. I'll be back in a month –we're leaving for Lithuania tomorrow, then I'm going on to London by myself. I've invited them to visit when they have chance, so you and everyone can meet them. I think you'll like Toris. How are things with Elizabeta? As paradisiacal as you imagined, I hope. You can call me, if you'd like. If it's convenient for you._

_Talk soon?_

_Vash_

Roderich smiles, more affectionately than he means to and leafs through the Polaroids in front of him, surveying the photograph of Vash and Feliks in what appears to be some kind of bar, Feliks holding a paper Polish flag in one hand, a whole bottle of vodka in the other. Vash looks as unimpressed as ever, and Roderich smiles.

"What are you grinning about?" Elizabeta asks, a small smile playing on her lips as she returns to the room, a steaming mug of coffee held tightly in her hands.

"What? Oh, it's nothing." Roderich explains, setting everything down on the coffee table and reaching for his cell phone. "Just Vash."

"Oh." Elizabeta looks down and focuses on her coffee, swirling the liquid in her mug. "Where is he now?"

"Lithuania, I think. He wrote this from Poland, though." Roderich explains, getting to his feet and heading towards their hallway. "He told me to call him, so I'm just going to."

"Mm. Tell him I said hello." She comments offhandedly, reaching for a magazine from the coffee table and not looking up at him.

Roderich nods and leaves the room, settling himself in the armchair in their hallway and pressing a few buttons on his phone. Vash picks up after a few rings, with a muffled ' _hello?'_

"Hey. It's me."

"Yes, I'd worked that much out. I  _do_ have caller ID you know." Vash is as snappy as ever and Roderich can't help but smile as he hears the other man sigh over the phone line. "Feliks, shut up, for Christ's sake. I'm on the phone."

"What on earth is going on?"

There's the sound of a door closing and suddenly the phone line is quiet.

"Feliks and Toris are arguing about something. They do it a lot, but I couldn't tell you what about though, since I speak neither Polish nor Lithuanian."

"Sounds like great fun. How've you been?"

"Oh, I'm alright. It's cold as hell here, and all I've done for three days is look at churches and cathedrals and wander around museums. As nice as it is, there's nothing else actually here."

"Now, I'm sure that there's more than that."

"Yes, but it's a river or castles. Toris said something about going over to Klaipėda, since that's where he grew up, but I don't think Feliks liked that idea much. But then, Feliks is quite picky about things anyway. But that's beside the point. How're you?"

"I'm good. A few papers behind where I should be, but nothing I can't handle."

"Honestly, Roderich. Even I've kept up with my work and I'm not even in the country!" Vash laughs slightly, but it sounds clipped even to his own ears. "And Elizabeta?"

"Oh, she's fine. A little tired because of all the work and college, but she's happy. We're happy." Roderich says, a little flatter than he'd first planned. "It's really good to hear your voice, though."

Vash falls silent on the line for a minute or two, then coughs just to make sure that Roderich knows he's still there.

"Well, it's good to be able to talk to you too. It's a nice change from these maniacs."

Roderich smiles to himself and closes his eyes, failing to notice Elizabeta standing in the doorway to the hall, watching him with the tiniest hint of affection in her eyes. She closes her eyes and smiles softly to herself, because her husband is an  _idiot_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for more random European characters. Nicolau from downstairs = Andorra. He's probably a really angry guy that shouts in Catalan a lot.
> 
> Sorry for how long this took! Aside from my big unpleasant exam (which was as unpleasant as it sounded) I had a 3000 word paper to write for my Film class and I'm coming down with some horrible throat illness on top of that. Yay. Updates are likely to now be on a 4-7 day basis because I'm a slow writer and I'm in Year 13 so I have lots of crap to do concerning university and other fun things. -.-
> 
> Few things in this chapter -Vash saying that Feliks is in a constant cycle of drunk and hungover is based on my own experience. I know a few Polish people and they seem to enjoy their alcohol far more than we Brits do, and the guys I know seem to drink more often and in greater amounts than me/my friends do. ouo
> 
> The other thing is Vash saying that Vilnius is mostly churches/cathedrals/museums came from the fact that as I was writing this chapter, I googled 'things to do in Vilnius' and most of the results were variants those three things.
> 
> The last thing is the question I asked in the last chapter, what happened in Anglo-French history on November 14th? The answer is... November 14th, 1994 was the date of the first passenger service through the Channel Tunnel. Which will never come in handy for anyone but ah well. Which was guessed correctly by Commander_Freddy, so if you want a silly little ficlet or something for your troubles then drop me a line uwu.


	23. Chapter 23

It's not until a week later that she finally confronts him, and even then it isn't that great of an issue when he returns from his orchestra practice and finds her sitting at the dining table, flicking through a psychology textbook.

"Liz?" He says, setting his stack of sheet music down on the table. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She replies, closing her book and looking up at him. "I just think we should talk."

She takes her flower hairpin from her hair and fiddles with it for a moment, insecure, before carefully clipping her bangs back away from her face. Roderich frowns at her over his glasses and pulls out the chair opposite her, agonizingly slow as it scrapes across the wooden flooring.

He settles in his seat and frowns at her in concern, reaching over to hold her hand in his. She frowns back at him and closes sad green eyes, pulling her hand away.

"Liz, is everything okay?"

She exhales heavily and shakily, opening her eyes slowly and surveying her husband's worried expression.

"I think you're in love with someone else." She says bluntly a few moments later, voice quiet.

" _What_?" Roderich splutters incredulously, staring at her over the top of his glasses. "That's ridiculous! Why would I have married you if I didn't love you?"

"I think it took him leaving for you to realize." Elizabeta continues, studying him carefully. "Even if he's still in your life, he isn't near you and it's affecting you. It's obvious."

"What are you implying?" Roderich looks at her incredulously, tugging at his hair as he thinks.

"You know what. You wouldn't be so defensive if you didn't." She sighs, like she's resigned herself to something. "I don't mind. He looks at you the same way you look at him. You've got nothing to worry about, trust me."

"I don't know what you mean." Roderich deflates, closing his eyes and gripping at the cuffs of his sweater in an effort to calm himself down.

"Yes, you do." Elizabeta replies unsteadily. "And, if you're wondering, I'm quite sure he feels the same. I've never seen him smile at anyone else like he smiles at you."

She laughs wetly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hands.

"Liz, I don't-"

"You don't need to say anything, Roderich." She smiles weakly at him. "Honestly. It's fine. I love you, but I want what's best for you, and I can tell that that's not being with me."

"You don't need to do this, Christ, Liz."

"I'm not doing it for your benefit." She replies almost sternly. "I'm doing this for me. And even if I don't know what's best for you, I can't let myself sit in this... this  _relationship_ when I know you'd rather be with somebody else."

She stands up then, straightens herself out and dabs at her eyes again.

"I'll go, if you want me to." Roderich says quietly, dragging himself to his feet and moving to stand and face her.

"I think that's for the best, yes." She nods, refusing to look up and meet his eyes as she feels his arms wrap around her shoulders for what could well be the last time.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry." Roderich mumbles into her mousy brown hair as he hugs her tight. "I really thought I loved you."

He presses a last kiss to her forehead and lets himself out, the front door clicking closed quietly behind him. Elizabeta watches him, and as she hears his key turn in the lock, allows herself to hang her head and sob in earnest.

Roderich can hear her start to cry from outside, and he hesitates, gravitating for a moment back towards the apartment and his wife. He stops himself, though, when he has to mentally correct himself to  _ex_ -wife and finds it's suddenly harder to breathe.

He reaches the street before he realizes he has nowhere really to go –he can't even talk to Vash, since the other man is halfway around the world, and it's gone four in the morning in Lithuania, so a phone call is out of the question.

In the end, half an hour of wandering later, he finds himself standing outside the front door of Francis and Vash's apartment building, cowering in heavy rain and shouting into an intercom.

"Francis! Let me in!"

There's a loud buzzing sound and the door clicks open. Roderich lets himself into the building and stumbles inside, rainwater dripping from his hair as he fumbles his way upstairs, stopping in front of Francis and Vash's door. He hesitates for a second, brushing soaking wet hair from his eyes before knocking heavily on the door.

Francis answers within a minute, wearing an oversized hooded jumper with  _I Heart Manchester_ printed on the front, carrying a steaming mug of something in one hand.

" _Merde_ , Roderich, what happened?" Francis asks, pulling him inside and pulling his coat away from his shoulders. He forces the mug into his hand and makes him drink; Roderich discovers then that it's some exotic brand of tea Arthur had probably brewed.

"It's nothing, just-" He sighs and wipes ineffectually at his wet glasses. "Just Liz, you know."

"Trouble with the wife, I take it?" Francis says as he ushers him into the sitting room. Arthur is there, in a fabulous green knit sweater vest, talking to Vash on a video call.

"Well, in a way." Roderich sighs, allowing Francis to push him into a seat beside Arthur. "Although I suppose she's my ex-wife, now."

"What?" Vash splutters on the screen, staring at his best friend through the view of a cheap web camera.

"Vash? What are you doing awake now?"

"It's four in the morning and we fly out to London at eight. Feliks isn't sleeping because he's so excited about going to England for the first time, and because Feliks isn't sleeping, Toris isn't sleeping, and because he's grown up to have passive-aggressive tendencies, if he's not allowed to sleep, neither am I." Vash grumbles, setting down the mug in his hand –it's bright yellow, striped with green and red and vaguely resembling Lithuania's flag, with the words  _Lietuva, Tėvyne mūsų_ printed on it in thick, black text.

Roderich hums thoughtfully and sips at his tea, eyeing the blonde and noting just how tired he looks.

"But that's beside the point." Vash continues, shaking his head. His bangs fall into his eyes and part of Roderich wishes he could reach out to him and push them back and maybe kiss him while he's there and-

"-and seriously, what the hell is wrong with you? What did you do that pissed off Liz so much that she left you?" Vash asks exasperatedly, frowning at the brunette, although the severity is somewhat dampened by the quality of the video feed.

"She told me." Roderich says quietly, shifting in his seat to look Vash in the eye as best he can. "She said that –she said I'm in love with someone else. She's right."

Vash stiffens noticeably, bolting upright in his chair.

"I need a drink." He announces, getting to his feet and vanishing from the camera's view. "Talk to Feliks, or something."

The other blonde is suddenly pushed into view, looking remarkably disgruntled with his hair tied back in a messy bow, dressed in a remarkably unattractive combination of checked pyjama pants and white cable knit sweater. He stares blankly at the camera for a few moments, and Roderich, Francis and Arthur all stare back until he unties his ribbon and lets his hair fall and hide his face.

"Toris, pomóż mi! Te dziwacy obserwują mnie i jest to całkowicie mnie przeraża!" He shouts suddenly, jumping to his feet and running for the doorway. Toris comes bustling in a moment later and bundles him up into a hug, pressing a kiss to his forehead in an effort to calm him.

"Nie martw się, nie pozwolę im cię skrzywdzić. Jesteś bezpieczny." He mutters into Feliks' hair, and the blonde relaxes against him slightly. "Kocham cię."

"Ja też cię kocham." Feliks mumbles into his chest, and Francis looks away from the screen, suddenly feeling as if he's intruding on something particularly private. Vash reappears then, holding a glass of water in one hand.

"Feliks, I leave you alone for five minutes and you start screaming. Why the hell am I friends with you?" He sighs, sitting back down at the table.

"Your friends are strange." Feliks huffs quietly, and Roderich picks up the hint of his thick accent.

"Just go and pack for London while I talk to them then, alright? I'm sure you'll need more than one scarf. Right, Arthur?"

"You'll probably need five." The Englishman points out, and Feliks claps his hands together.

"Toris, come help me!" He exclaims, dragging the taller Lithuanian out of the room by his wrist.

"Sorry about him." Vash says quietly after he's sure they're both out of earshot. "I forget how nervous he is around people he doesn't know."

"I'd gathered, if the screaming was anything to go by." Arthur deadpans, sipping thoughtfully at his cup of Earl Grey. "Now, as I was saying before your idiot best friend and my ridiculous excuse for a boyfriend interrupted, I would heartily recommend  _We Will Rock You_ if you have the chance to-"

He is rudely interrupted by the buzzing of the intercom phone, and he sighs exasperatedly. Francis pulls himself to his feet and answers it grudgingly.

He returns quickly a few minutes later, with a soaking wet and sobbing Antonio tucked under his arm.

"Christ, Antonio, what happened to you?" Vash says, aghast as he leans into the camera to check on the other's appearance. The Spaniard only sniffles and allows Francis to remove the soggy  _University of Las Vegas_ varsity jacket from his shoulders and wrap him in a warm, dry towel.

"Antonio?" Francis nudges him after a few minutes of painful silence, save the occasional sniffle. Antonio looks at him with sad green eyes and dark chocolate curls sticking up at all angles, and Francis hugs him tight without even knowing what happened.

"Well, I had an argument with Lovino." He starts after another few minutes of silence. "It was worse than usual, and it was only over something stupid –we couldn't agree on what to eat for dinner, of all things."

He laughs, sniffs again and wipes his eyes with the back of his wrist.

"But it got worse and worse, and in the end I asked him if he loved me. He couldn't answer me. Just stared at me for a few minutes like I knew the answer. Then I asked him about this 'friend' he has –some guy from Malta who he talks about too much and smiles at a lot and goes to stupid study meets with– and what they actually are to each other, and he wouldn't answer. So I-"

He cuts himself off with a weak sob, and Francis rubs at his back and absently plays with his hair.

"So I asked him if they'd slept together and he just –he just  _stared_ at me, like I was insane or something, but he didn't  _deny it_ , so I packed a bag and ran for the airport. I wasn't thinking and I ended up with a ticket to Seattle and about five dollars left in my bank account." Antonio deflates, shoulders sinking as his wipes at his eyes again. "I miss him already."

He stays silent for another few minutes, and Arthur takes his leave and returns with a cup of coffee.

"Sorry. I know it's probably not what you normally drink."

"Thanks." Antonio says with a slight nod, taking the mug and sipping at it carefully. "I just don't know what to do."

"Wait for him to call you." Vash instructs him. Antonio looks up to meet his eyes through the camera. "That way you'll know if he cares about you, if he puts the effort in to try and get you back."

"That's the problem –I'm not even sure if we're still together." The Spaniard admits, eyebrows furrowing together. "Lord knows Alessandro probably jumped at the chance to get in bed with him."

"You don't know that." Vash interjects, frowning at the other man. "He's probably worried stupid about you –if he knows you even half as well as I do, he should have worked out by now that you're an  _oaf_ when you get upset."

"Hey." Antonio attempts to glower at him, but both he and Vash know he doesn't mean it. "I resent that. I'm not an oaf."

"Really?" Roderich laughs next to him, raising his eyebrows and looking over his glasses at the other man. "The first time I met you, you were falling down two flights of stairs at school because you were distracted by a 'pretty Slovenian boy'."

Francis hides his laugh behind his hand, and Vash rolls his eyes.

"Hey, that was six years ago." Antonio pouts, running his fingers through his messy, damp curls. "I've changed since then."

"You've not gotten any taller, if that's what you're implying." Roderich snickers to himself, and Antonio frowns at him for a second or two, before he starts laughing too.

"You suck."

"Vash!" A voice that carries Feliks' thick accent echoes through the speakers of Francis' laptop, dragging out the 'a' sound as he goes. "Help! Do these jeans go with this jacket? How cold is it in London? No, Toris, I won't wear that horrible sweater Eduard bought me for my birthday, just look at it! It's all hideous and  _hand-knitted_ , ew.  _Yes_ , I know he's your cousin and I should appreciate it, but-"

Vash rolls his eyes and shakes his head, looking up at the four of them.

"I'd better go before Toris kills him. Or Feliks drives him mad, one of the two." Vash sighs, shrugging at them almost apologetically. "Look after each other, alright? Don't do anything stupid. I'll be back in two weeks."

They barely have time to mutter their goodbyes before Vash closes his laptop and the call disconnects.

"Two weeks, huh." Arthur hums thoughtfully, more to himself than any of the other men present. "Better buck your ideas up, Edelstein."

"I agree." Francis nods firmly, for once in his life seeing eye to eye with Arthur. He stands and moves in front of Roderich, frowning down at him. "Je jure devant Dieu, si vous lui faire du mal, tu es un homme mort marchant."

"What?" Roderich asks in a mix of confusion and fear. Arthur laughs into his hands, just about understanding what Francis had threatened the younger man with.

"Just... Be good to him, alright?" Francis sighs, shaking his head. " _Deux semaines_ , Roderich. Don't fuck this up. You can sleep in Vash's room –I'll sort the bed for you now."

He smiles lopsidedly and disappears out of the door, his footsteps echoing as he climbs the stairs.

"Seriously, why does everyone have it in their head that I'm in love with him?" Roderich grumbles. "I mean, it's not as if he's so grumpy and defensive that part of me thinks it's kind of cute, and he's incredibly intelligent to the point of finding myself captivated by everything he-"

He cuts himself off with a hand over his mouth and a quiet, shocked little noise escaping his throat. A flush of bright fuchsia spreads quickly across his cheeks.

"Oh.  _Oh._ "

"Finally." Antonio laughs brashly, patting Roderich firmly on the back. "I was wondering when you'd notice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the worst at updating. It is me.
> 
> Yeah, sorry this took so long. For some reason this chapter was really hard on me to write, which is mostly why it took as long as it did. I've not been in a particularly emotionally sturdy place these past couple of weeks and it's not really conducive to writing.
> 
> Anyway, on with translations.
> 
> Polish:  
> "Toris, pomóż mi! Te dziwacy obserwują mnie i jest to całkowicie mnie przeraża!" = "Toris, help me! These freaks are watching me, and it's totally freaking me out!"
> 
> "Nie martw się, nie pozwolę im cię skrzywdzić. Jesteś bezpieczny." = "Do not worry, I will not let them hurt you. You are safe." (which sounds a bit... robotic, I realize, but I don't speak Polish and relied on the Internet for this one)
> 
> "Kocham cię." / "Ja też cię kocham." = "I love you." / "I love you too."
> 
> French:  
> "Je jure devant Dieu, si vous lui faire du mal, tu es un homme mort marchant." = "I swear to God, if you hurt him, you're a dead man walking."
> 
> "Deux semaines" = two weeks.
> 
> Lithuanian:  
> Lietuva, Tėvyne mūsųis the Lithuanian name for their national anthem, which translates to English as 'Lithuania, Our Homeland.' Why Toris would have a mug with it printed on, I have no idea.
> 
> Few other things that aren't language related;  
> 'some guy from Malta' / Alessandro is Malta, if that wasn't totally obvious.  
> 'pretty Slovenian boy' is Slovenia, which I figure was also quite obvious.  
> The reason Francis is wearing an I Heart Manchester hoodie is because my headcanon (at least in this 'verse) is that Arthur was born/grew up in Manchester. Fun fact: the actual I Heart Manchester hoodies/shirts/whatever actually say I Heart MCR, rather than the city's full name.
> 
> Commander_Freddy, I am working on your ficlet as I type, and hopefully it should be done within the week. Sorry everything's taking so long lately. :c  
> Anyway, I am very sorry about the sheer length of this AN and the time it took to update. Hopefully the next update should be a bit quicker. Thank you for your patience uwu


	24. Chapter 24

A week later, Roderich receives a text that states a terminal number and arrival time, along with a small note that ' _you'd better be there to meet me._ ' He smiles absently at his cell phone, failing to notice Francis studying him from his position on the other sofa.

"What are you grinning about?" He huffs, looking up to see the Frenchman regarding him with a soft smile.

"Oh, nothing. I could ask you the same thing. You seem quite pleased." Francis replies quickly, with an airy laugh.

"It's nothing. Just... Vash, really."

"I'm glad that you  _finally_ admit that you like him." Francis muses thoughtfully, standing and moving towards the doorway. "I think I'd better check on Antonio. Wouldn't want him to think  _we've_  abandoned him too, now would we?"

Francis leaves before Roderich has time to answer, leaving the brunette to frown at the carpet while he thinks. He sighs to himself, replies to Vash's text with a simple ' _okay, I'll be there, see you soon :)_ ', tucks his cell phone into his pocket and tries to think of what he's supposed to say.

However, precisely one week later, on the day he's supposed to be collecting his best friend from the airport, Roderich finds himself sitting in the middle of the Starbucks –where said best friend works, no less– with his ex-wife. She seems happy, he notes, or at least happier than she was.

"Oh, I've been meaning to tell you, but I spoke to Alfred the other day." She says, taking a sip of her caramel mocha as she studies his face.

"What about?"

"Nothing major, really. I passed him on the stairs on my way to my psychology lecture and asked him how he was and how he was coping. We got to talk and I ended up missing all of my lecture, so we went for coffee at Bella and Tim's cafe."

"Oh?" Roderich replies, peering at her over his glasses with raised eyebrows.

"Not like that!" She laughs, setting her drink down on the table and leaning forward slightly. "I hadn't seen much of him lately and we are meant to be friends, after all."

"Why are you telling me this?" Roderich frowns at her.

"I'm getting to that." She shakes her head and scoffs at him, laughing playfully. "I was wondering if Arthur or Francis had explained what happened before they got back together."

"Not really. I got a hint of it from Vash when we were texting the other day. He told me something about how Feliks had nearly got himself stuck in the doors of a Tube train, then asked if Arthur had been a prick yet. When I asked what he meant he explained, sort of."

"Well, I don't know what you've heard, but here's what Alfred told me." She leans forward conspiratorially, picking her mug up and cupping her hands around it. "He said that even though Arthur made him happy, he could always tell that it wasn't as mutual as he'd have liked it to be."

"Oh?"

"He said he could tell Arthur would always be happier with Francis, even when it seemed like they hated each other. He said it felt like Arthur wasn't even there half the time –I assume he means emotionally rather than physically– and once he caught him curled up on the sofa with a tub of ice cream, watching  _La Vie en Rose_ with no subtitles and sobbing. In the end, I think Alfred actually pushed him back in Francis' direction. It was hurting him too much, I think, having Arthur just go through the motions like that." She swallows pointedly, swirling the coffee in her cup and not looking up at him. "And as much as I understand him, I can't say I really understand their relationship. But, Alfred says they were like this even when he first met Arthur in college."

"It's funny; Vash always said the same thing to me, too. As long as he's known the both of them as a couple, they've been like this, and they've always pulled each other back before. I think this time he was a little worried they wouldn't."

"I'd say he was more than 'a little worried', Roderich." Elizabeta laughs softly. "He adores Francis, you know that. And no, I don't mean like  _that_ , either. They're like family to each other."

"I knew that. I, er, also think you should know that Francis threatened me the other week." Roderich admits sheepishly, sipping at his coffee absently. Elizabeta raises an eyebrow at him in scorn.

"I highly doubt that's the case. But pray tell, what for?"

"Well, he said most of it in French so I didn't really understand him, but Arthur helpfully translated it for me. Apparently I'm dead if I hurt him."

"So it finally hit you?" Elizabeta smirks at him, almost wryly.

"If you can phrase it like that, I suppose." He shrugs. "Although, not without not so gentle nudging on Antonio and Francis' parts. I'm just trying to work out what I'm supposed to say to him."

"Don't throw yourself at him, I doubt that'd work –he doesn't seem the type to like that sort of thing." Elizabeta hums softly to herself, looking up past Roderich's head to the large clock mounted on the wall behind him. "Speaking of which, should you not be on your way to the airport by now? I thought you said his flight landed in twenty minutes."

Roderich frowns and looks at his watch. His eyes go wide and he drinks the last of his coffee in three quick mouthfuls, slamming the mug down on the table and practically leaping to his feet.

"Shit. I should probably leave." Roderich bumbles around, tugging his coat clumsily up his arms and failing to notice Henri appearing over his shoulder.

"Where are you going?" He asks, tucking his hands into the deep pockets of his apron.

"Getting Vash from the airport, why?"

"I was just curious. So he's finally back, huh?" Henri laughs, tugging a notebook from his pocket. "Thank God. Six weeks of endless shifts with only Anton, Branimir and Berwald for company can drive a guy crazy, you know?"

"Branimir?"

"He's Anton's friend –we had to hire someone temporarily while Vash was away, and Anton suggested him. Berwald and I have been working on a theory, though."

"Oh?" Elizabeta looks up at him, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah. We think they're perhaps a little bit  _more_ than friends."

"Do tell." Elizabeta smirks, and gestures to the seat Roderich has just vacated. "I could always use a little more information to blackmail that idiot Romanian with."

"My shift finishes in ten minutes." Henri glances at the clock on the wall. "Can I count on you still being here?"

"With all due respect, Henri, I have to go." Roderich interjects. "If I leave any later I'll be running the risk of having a shouting, jet-lagged best friend to deal with."

Henri nods, and Roderich turns to leave, attempting to formulate a plan to tell Vash how he feels.

He's standing in the Arrivals terminal twenty minutes later, reading endless lists of incoming flights until he finally spots  _British Airways flight ST108 from London Gatwick Airport has landed_ and can calm himself. He watches the board a few minutes longer, for lack of anything better to do, reading through lists of landing Delta flights and dull airplane codes until he spots the telltale blonde hair and green hoodie out of the corner of his eye.

He gets to his feet and Vash sees him then, the smallest of smirks quirking up the corners of his mouth. He subconsciously walks a little faster until they're standing in front of each other and Roderich is squashing him into a hug. Vash allows his smile to widen as he wraps his arms around Roderich's chest, absently pressing his face against the taller man's neck.

"You missed me, then?" Vash laughs dryly, pulling back from the hug to survey Roderich's face carefully. The brunette practically grins at him, lopsided and clumsy just like he is, and Vash finds himself thinking  _Christ if I didn't miss that smile_.

"Of course." Roderich retorts offhandedly, waving his hands around and making to grab Vash's bag. "How was it?"

"I'd wouldn't try and carry that, if I were you. I think it weighs as much as you do." Vash almost chuckles, scooping his bag up himself. "It was great, though, really. You should visit Austria at some point, I think. Maybe with your mother. I think she'd like that."

"I have  _been_ , you know." Roderich huffs, folding his arms and leading Vash off towards the exit and the terminal parking lot. "Admittedly, I was only about three, but it still counts."

Vash is about to grumble a response, smack Roderich in the arm and drag him to the car, when a loud, familiarly accented voice echoes out across the terminal.

"How the hell am I supposed to find this stupid bastard in all of Seattle?"

"Does that sound like Feliciano's brother to you?" Roderich frowns, turning on his heel to follow the voice.

"Lovino? Yes, it does, now that you mention it." Vash turns too, following Roderich's gaze until he too spots the Italian, fumbling with a folding map in one hand and his cell phone in the other. Vash scoops up his bag and moves over towards him, Roderich trailing behind him.

Lovino looks up from his bent map and his phone, flustered, to stare at the both of them in turn.

"What do you want?" He tucks his phone into his pocket and sighs, attempting to fold the map clumsily and failing, resolving to shove it into his backpack haphazardly. "Vash, right?"

"Yes." The blonde nods curtly, eyebrows set into a frown. "Now, I can only assume you're here, eight hundred miles and a hundred dollars of plane ticket later, because you want to see Antonio."

"You know where he is?" Lovino suddenly looks hopeful, his eyes brighter than Vash has ever seen them.

"Of  _course_ I know where he is. What kind of a person do you think I am?" Vash sighs, rolling his eyes. "I'll take you to him, if that's what you want. But, be warned, he probably won't be too happy to see you."

"I know and I –I just want him to know that I'm sorry, I know he probably won't want to talk to me after everything but-"

"I'm not the one who needs to hear this." Vash interjects quietly, turning his back to Lovino and heading back towards the parking lot. "But I'm quite sure there's a sad Spaniard sleeping on my sofa that wants to."

Lovino nods firmly, breathing in slowly and shakily.

"You're right."

Roderich herds the both of them towards the car quickly, bundling Vash into the passenger seat as his jet lag finally starts to catch up with him. Lovino settles into the back seat nervously fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt as Roderich starts the car and pulls away.

They arrive back at the apartment block half an hour later, which genuinely surprises Vash, seeing as Roderich is quite possibly the slowest driver in the known universe. He fiddles with the key in the lock of their front door, turning to survey Lovino before he pushes it open.

"Are you sure you want to do this? It might not be as happy a reunion as you want." Vash says, tired green eyes looking the other man up and down quickly.

"I know." Lovino nods brusquely, looking back at Vash with fire in his eyes. "I'm not sure if I'll be totally okay with myself if he doesn't want me, but I've dealt with plenty of people not wanting me before. I'm sure I'll find a way to cope."

There's a hint of sadness in his voice that Vash misses, but Roderich hears it all too well and finds himself leaning over to squeeze his shoulder in a small gesture of comfort. Lovino looks up at him and frowns softly, and Vash pushes open the door and leads them both inside.

Francis is springing up out of his seat as soon as he hears muffled speech outside, and Vash suddenly finds himself engulfed in a tight hug that smells distinctly of wine and Arthur's aftershave. His stubble rubs uncomfortably at his cheek as Francis presses them together, his curls falling into both of their faces.

"So, you've missed me, I take it?"

"Oui!" Francis pulls away from him and claps his hands together excitedly. "I want you to tell me everything! Was Geneva fabulous? Was London as dreary and boring as it always is?"

"Oi, that's my country's capital you're slagging off there, watch it." Arthur comes into view then, leaning around the doorframe for a second before stepping into the foyer. He looks Vash up and down for a second. "Alright?"

The smaller blonde nods, folding his arms across his chest as Roderich pushes Lovino into the room with a firm hand on the small of his back. Francis raises his eyebrows as Lovino looks between the two of them, thin eyebrows knitting together.

"He's looking for Antonio." Roderich explains, voice soft as Francis's expression shifts to understanding.

"Who's looking for me?" Antonio interrupts brashly, pushing past Arthur and Francis to stare wide eyed at the three newcomers. "Lovino?"

"Er. Hi." Lovino replies, and his voice is quieter than Antonio thinks he's ever heard it. "I needed to talk to you."

"So you flew here?" There's an air of disbelief in Antonio's voice as the two of them stare at each other.

"Yeah. A phone call didn't seem like it'd be good enough." Lovino laughs dryly, and Roderich ushers Francis, Arthur, and a dozing Vash out of the room for wine and chatter. "Jesus, I'm sorry."

Antonio stays silent, watching as Lovino runs his fingers through unruly bangs and looks across the room at him with wet hazel eyes.

"I get that you probably don't want to hear it –I know, I understand." He swallows, promptly finding the rug on the floor particularly interesting. "I know you want commitment and maybe I'm not going to be the person to give that to you, or even the person you want it from, but I never slept with Alessandro. Why would I when I had you, for fuck's sake?"

Lovino sighs, exasperated, as he knots his fingers back in his hair. Antonio's expression softens, and he makes to respond but Lovino interrupts first.

"And I know it's late, and it probably won't mean that much to you anymore, but I love you, okay? I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner because I know it always upset you, but I was scared, alright? Nothing I fall for ever works out well for me."

He sighs again, pulls his hands away from his face and stuffs them into his pockets.

"I should go." He says quietly, turning on his heel but hesitating for a moment. "You can stay in the apartment. I'll pack up my stuff and be out in a week. I'm sorry."

He's halfway out of the door when Antonio finds himself again, and practically runs, reaching out and grabbing his hand.

"Lovino, wait."

Francis sighs happily in the sitting room, leaning against the door with a glass of wine in one hand.

"Ah, love." He smiles and sinks back into his seat, pressed against Arthur's side. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"You're a horrible person. Let them work out their issues  _without_ a crude Frenchman eavesdropping on them." Arthur scorns him, rolling his eyes and tutting loudly. "I don't hear arguing, though. That can only be good, I'd say."

Francis is about to start bickering with him, but Roderich shushes the pair of them from his position on the floor. They both turn to look at him and find Vash slumped against his side, hair in his face and sleeping soundly, Roderich's arm slung around his shoulders.

"I think I'll take him upstairs." Roderich all but whispers, gently pulling away from Vash and gingerly scooping him up. He is pleasantly surprised when he finds that he can, even more so when Vash inadvertently hugs in closer to him, his thin fingers twisting and holding on tight to Roderich's shirt.

Francis nods at him, and Roderich carefully navigates through the apartment, casually noting that Lovino and Antonio are folded in each other's arms in the doorway, muttering to each other in what Roderich can only assume is Spanish or Italian.

He makes his way to Vash's room, attempting to set him down on the bed but finding Vash only clings to him harder and mumbles something in French. Roderich huffs affectionately, clumsily toes off his shoes, removes his glasses and allows himself to fall on top of the comforter with him. He smiles, presses a tiny, light kiss to the top of Vash's head and drifts off to sleep himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. Well. I apologize that this took so long -my only 'excuse' is that life dealt me and an inordinate number of people I care about utterly shite hands in the last month and so my real life had to take precedent to the point that finding time to write even 100 words was a challenge. It shouldn't happen again, since everything seems to have levelled itself out for now.
> 
> Anyway, onward with the actual AN.
> 
> Branimir = Bulgaria. And in case anyone had forgotten since his last appearance however many chapters ago, Anton = Romania.
> 
> The Antonio/Lovino subplot will be further expanded in a Lovino-centric sidefic that details the two weeks he and Antonio spent apart, right up to when Roderich sees them both together in this chapter. Hopefully it'll be posted at some point in the not-too-distant future but I won't make any promises.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience with my crappy update schedule, you're all far too lovely <3


	25. Chapter 25

Vash wakes with a start. The first thing he notices is the soft weight resting on his waist, immediately followed by the warm presence curled behind him, breathing softly onto his neck. He shuffles, turning awkwardly in the circle of their arms until he spots telltale hair and a purple sweater. He stiffens, sucks in a shaky breath and looks up at Roderich's face. He's still asleep, eyes closed with a soft dusting of coal lashes falling across pink cheeks. His hair is in his face, fluttering up as he breathes. Vash closes his eyes and, for a moment, finds himself in a world where he wakes up to this every day, butterfly kisses on his lips as he opens his eyes.

And then suddenly he's back in the real world, in a cold, white bedroom, spooning on top of the covers with his still-technically-married best friend.

And that hits harder than he'd like to admit.

So he carefully shuffles down the bed and out of the circle of Roderich's arms –although he needn't bother with grace given that Roderich could sleep through a large scale earthquake– standing at the foot of the bed and watching as the brunette rearranges and resettles himself with a soft, sleepy grumble.

Once satisfied that Roderich is definitely not waking up anytime soon, he quickly heads downstairs, because he is not prepared to have an existential crisis whilst being further than two steps away from a coffee machine. However, when he arrives in the kitchen, Arthur is already there, meddling around with a teapot and a tea strainer.

"Alright." Arthur says when he spots Vash as he reaches for the milk.

"Morning. Now move." Vash pushes past him and begins refilling the press pot with ground coffee and hot water. Arthur watches him sceptically from beside the fridge, swirling a teaspoon in his mug.

"Honestly, I don't understand why you're so insistent on faffing about with that stupid device when instant coffee is as good as that fancy stuff. And your mug is the size of a sodding teaspoon." Arthur scoffs, sipping at his tea. Vash stays silent, glowering at the twenty two year old over his shoulder, through his bangs. Arthur swallow nervously and visibly shrinks back away from him.

"Don't test me, Kirkland. It is ten minutes to eight in the morning, I flew halfway around the world yesterday and I have not consumed coffee in twelve hours. Be quiet."

Arthur raises his free hand in surrender and departs the kitchen, leaving Vash to glower at the press pot for five minutes and tap his foot impatiently. By the time he's pouring out coffee, Francis has surfaced from somewhere. Vash rounds on him, green eyes hard as he stares at his roommate down the length of their kitchen.

"Would you mind furnishing me with the knowledge as to why I woke up with Roderich in my bed this morning?" Vash snips at him, and Francis laughs into his hand.

"Now now, Vash." Francis stops laughing after a moment and pushes his bangs up out of his eyes. "He was only being nice."

"By spooning me?" Vash hisses incredulously, slamming the coffee mug down on the kitchen countertop with such force that it nearly shatters in his hand.

"You fell asleep _on_ him, what was he supposed to do?" Francis rolls his eyes and absently reaches back to tie his hair into a loose ponytail with a thin black ribbon. "Just leave you sitting there on the sitting room floor, only for you to wake up with a bad back and complain all day?"

"Well, no, but-" Vash starts, hesitating for a second to wring his hands and stare nervously at the floor, "but for a second when I woke up and saw him I thought –I thought maybe..."

Vash sighs, tugging at a few strands of his hair as he thinks. Francis looks at him sadly, reaches over to close the gap between them and squeeze his arm.

"I know."

"I need more sleep." Vash slaps a hand over his face and frowns. "I'm going back to bed. Oh, wait, I can't, because my stupid best friend is still in there and he's an ass when someone wakes him up before ten!"

"Calm down." Francis replies airily, taking the empty mug from Vash's hand and setting it in the sink. "Besides, sleeping now won't help your jet lag, you know that. Go and unpack, then call Lilli and tell her about your trip. She's been calling for you every week."

"Alright, fine." Vash grumbles, moving away from Francis and out of the kitchen. "I'll see you when you finish work."

"Actually, Arthur and I are going out after work tonight."

"Good for you. I'll find my earplugs."

Vash hears Francis laughing as he closes the door to his room quietly, sparing a glance for Roderich, who is still asleep but has now spread himself over the entire bed. He laughs quietly, almost breathless, in the back of his throat as he turns to start unpacking.

He's still there two hours later, having rearranged his clothes and thrown them in the laundry basket already, and had a glass of the vodka Feliks had insisted on buying him before they'd left Warsaw. He holds that as the reason that he's currently staring blankly at the collection of souvenirs and trying to remember why the hell he bought half of them. He sighs, then tugs his phone from his pocket to check the time and send Feliks a quick text to let him know he got home safe, since it was too late to do so last night.

Five minutes later, his phone starts vibrating fiercely on the floor, and Feliks' name and a photograph he took of himself flash up on the screen. Vash huffs, but picks up the call anyway.

"What is it?" He says brusquely, leaving the room to avoid waking Roderich with his speech.

"Oh, nothing." Feliks practically sings down the line. "Just making sure you're alright, that's all!"

"I'm fine." Vash pinches the bridge of his nose and leans against the wall, attempting to get Feliks to shut up using only the power of his mind.

"Good." Vash can almost hear his grin. "Oh, I was going to call you tomorrow anyway, but I'll tell you now, since you're here. Toris and I have decided to take you up on that offer of visiting you next month! Isn't that great?"

"Marvellous." Vash laughs dryly.

"I hope you've managed to kiss that boy you like before then, y'know. What was his name, Richard or something?"

"Roderich." Vash corrects him briskly, sighing to himself. Feliks doesn't notice.

"Right, Roderich. Well, I've gotta go, Toris is taking me for alcohol and a movie, so I'll see you next month, 'kay?"

"Alright, bye."

"Love you!"

The line goes dead and he huffs to himself, pocketing his phone and heading back into his room. He finds Roderich awake at last, propped up on his elbows and blinking at the ceiling.

"Vash?"

"Who else would it be, idiot?" He deadpans, shaking his head and dropping on to his bed beside him. "Good to see you're finally with us."

Roderich sits up properly and settles his glasses on his face. The air feels heavier, somehow, he notes, as he and Vash look at each other for what feels like hours. The blonde swallows and eventually flinches, turning away from him and getting up to move towards his bag.

"I got you something in London." He rummages through what's left and produces a thick book. "Here. Feliks and Toris decided they wanted to see the Tate Modern and dragged me along. I know how much you hate modern art, so..."

Roderich laughs as he reads the title, _How to Survive Modern Art_ , looking up at him fondly. Vash notices, but it's gone almost as quickly as it comes as he sits back down next to him.

"The place itself was kind of tedious, actually." Vash muses, leaning back on the pillows. "Perhaps it's because art isn't really my thing, but I don't know. I liked the Louvre when I went with Marianne."

"You still haven't told me what the whole thing was like. Your whole trip, I mean." Roderich says as he looks back at Vash over his shoulder.

"It was good, on the whole. I managed to see a hockey game while we were in Geneva, but Feliks didn't really enjoy himself that much, so I had to take him to a chocolate shop to shut him up afterwards. Poland was nice too, I guess. They like their alcohol there, more than I thought they did, actually." Vash says, relaxing properly and tucking his hands behind his head. "Feliks had to man a flight from Vilnius to St. Petersburg while we were there though, so he was gone for two days, and Toris wanted to go to this museum in Vilnius, and God, it was horrendous."

"Now, that's probably a bit strong." Roderich laughs gently, setting the book down on the nightstand and reclining next to Vash. "It can't have been that bad."

"Not like that." Vash clarifies, shaking his head a little. "I meant what the museum was about, as such. It was one of the memorial museums for the Lithuanian genocide under the Soviet Union, and he started telling me about his grandfather that was thought to have died in the building. He started crying a little bit and it was _awful_ because I didn't know what to do, but I sort of felt it too, even though I have no personal links to the country besides him. It got to me a little bit. I don't know why."

"That's good, though, isn't it?" Roderich muses, rolling on to his side to look at Vash properly. "That it was powerful enough to move you despite it not affecting you?"

"I suppose." Vash replies, looking sideways at him. "I'd just never seen him cry before now. Then I remembered when he was born the country was still technically Soviet and I understood, I suppose."

"Huh." Roderich raises his eyebrows. "Who'd have thought you actually had feelings under that frown of yours."

"I resent that." Vash huffs, frowning at him. "Seriously, why does everyone think that? First Francis, now you. Christ."

"You know I don't mean it." Roderich smiles, a gentle curve to one side as he regards Vash warmly.

"Luckily for you." Vash turns on his side then, to look at him properly. Roderich suddenly finds himself overwhelmed, with mint green eyes fixed on his, a soft smile curving Vash's thin lips and coarse blonde hair falling errant in his eyes. Roderich smiles, all gentle and understated, as he reaches over to tuck his hair behind his ear. His mind is screaming at him – _stop it stop it stop it you're freaking him out_ – but he ignores it and lingers on his jaw, sliding his fingers to cup his cheek and finally press a light kiss to his lips.

He's quietly surprised when Vash kisses him back, shyly and awkwardly as his hands fumble to hold his waist. It's tender and almost perfect, for the minute or two it lasts before Vash finds himself again and opens eyes he doesn't remember closing, shoves Roderich away and leaps to his feet.

"What the hell was that?" Vash shouts, moving so far back he's nearly pressed against the wall.

"I..." Roderich starts, but stops before he makes an ass out of himself. "I thought this was what you wanted. You kissed me back."

"What? Who told you?" Vash looks like he's about to cry any second, and Roderich hates that it's _him_ who caused this, it's down to him that Vash has his hand pressed over his mouth and is staring, terrified, at the wall behind his head. "You weren't supposed to find out, not now and not like this, I-"

He stops and covers his eyes with his hands and cowers into the corner.

"Roderich, I..." He starts, sliding his hands away from his eyes and wrapping his arms around his stomach protectively. "...I _do_ want this. Hell, I want you. But not like this. Not because you think it's what I want, but because it's what _you_ want... I'm not some rebound from the wife you've not even divorced yet, Roderich. I've had trouble dealing with –well, dealing with myself, really, in the past, but now I know I'm worth more than that, and I'm not about to let you make me think otherwise."

"Vash, I didn't kiss you _just_ for you." Roderich gets to his feet and moves towards him, closer but still a good distance away. "It was as much for me, too. I –I really think I like you."

He takes another step forward, but Vash steps back and towards the door.

"Don't, Roderich. If you like me as much as you say you do, why the hell did you marry Liz?" He asks incredulously, glaring at him as tears brim in his eyes. "Do you have any idea how much that hurt? How awful it was to have to help her pick her stupid wedding dress and plan the whole ridiculous occasion with you and pretend like I didn't want to be in her place? I bet you don't. It was horrible."

"Vash..."

"Don't!" His voice cracks and he sounds almost weary as he allows a few stray tears to slide over his cheeks. "Don't pretend that you understand, because you don't, okay! You didn't spend the better part of _half of your life_ pining after someone who never acknowledged any kind of romantic connection to you!"

"You could have just asked me!" Roderich finally snaps, his hands balling into fists by his side.

"And what good would that have done? First there was Antonio, who was better looking. Then there was Gilbert, who was funnier. Then Liz, who was both and you loved her –loved them– so much that I didn't want to get in your way. I didn't think I was worth it anyway. I mean, what the hell would someone like you see in someone like me?"

"A lot, actually." Roderich admits quietly, a small smile on his face.

"Don't take me for a fool, Edelstein!" Vash retorts, crying in earnest now as he tugs at his hair. Roderich flinches, because he hasn't called him that in years and somehow it hurts more than it should. "I didn't stand by and watch you love other people only for you to turn around and pretend that you love me."

"Vash, I'm not pretending to love you!" Roderich shouts at him, tugging at his sweater anxiously. "What part of that don't you understand?"

"The part where you married someone else!" Tears are streaming down Vash's face and Roderich's heart drops to his stomach because nothing he says can make this stop, can make Vash, the strongest person he's ever known, stop sobbing into his hands. "You don't need to lie about it to make me feel better. It doesn't work, okay! I've lived with it for ten years now, and I can sure as hell live with it for more."

"Vash, you shouldn't –you don't have to, okay? Listen to me."

The blonde shakes his head, looking down at the floor and pulling his hair over his face so Roderich can't see him anymore.

"I'm going out. It might be best if you're not here when I come home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /dramallama
> 
> 62,000 words later, they finally kiss. I hope no one was expecting a one-kiss-and-it's-perfect reunion...
> 
> Anyway, all will be revealed in the coming chapters uwu
> 
> The actual 'notes' for this chapter are pretty short, for once, but: the genocide museum Vash talks about going to in Vilnius is a real place -it's one of two museums dedicated to Lithuania under the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany. It's known as the Museum of Genocide Victims and it's housed in the ex-KGB headquarters in Vilnius. Even some of the images available online are hugely powerful, and I can see someone like Toris being particularly moved by the whole experience.
> 
> The Tate Modern is the most visited modern art gallery in the world. It's in London and it's the UK's national gallery of modern/contemporary art. The book is something that's actually on sale there.
> 
> Thank you all for putting up with my weird update schedule, you sweethearts. Not very many chapters to go now! :3


	26. Chapter 26

To say Yao is surprised to find himself confronted with a crying Vash at the front desk is an understatement. The younger man looks utterly dishevelled –his hair is everywhere and his clothes are rumpled as he plays with his sleeve. The Chinese man looks him up and down a few times, and Vash sniffles.

"Is... Is Francis busy? I need to talk to him."

Yao looks at his watch. 11.20.

"No, we've only been open twenty minutes; he shouldn't be doing much now." Yao moves around the desk and straightens his shirt. "I'll see if I can get him. Come with me. Jett, cover for me please?"

Yao reaches up to wrap an arm around Vash's shoulders and steers him towards the opening to the kitchen. A boy with familiar sandy brown hair and bored eyes is standing nearby, watching the both of them intently.

"Ion, move please." Yao says, pushing the teenager aside slightly to reach the window, where he leans against the counter.

"What is it?"

"Nicolai, could you get Francis for me?" Yao pauses and looks sideways at the blonde, who has folded his arms around his chest and looks utterly pitiful. "It's urgent."

Nicolai nods and disappears for a moment, reappearing seconds later with Francis following behind him, looking more than a little annoyed. He stops and his eyes go wide when he sees Vash.

"Vash? What are you doing here?" He asks, moving around Nicolai and exiting the kitchen, coming to a stop at the shorter man's side. "Is everything alright?"

"No, not really." Vash sighs, and he allows the Frenchman to drag him away and into a more secluded corner of the restaurant.

"What happened? I've only been gone for two hours, it can't have been that bad."

"Well, he... He kissed me." Vash says quietly. Francis gasps and stares at him.

"Really? Oh my god! That's good, isn't it?"

"You'd think, but –but I know him and he's still hung up on Elizabeta, he will be for a while now. I wanted it to

be real but I don't know if he's ready for it. He only got married two months ago, at best."

"Vash, I don't mean to be rude, but he  _did_ kiss you. I think he's ready."

"But he's married!"

"He's getting divorced. I thought he'd have told you that much. They've talked about it and decided it's for the best." Francis squeezes his shoulders and looks him firmly in the eyes.

"Well, he didn't. Clearly that slipped his mind." Vash huffs, his tears finally slowing to a stop as he stares back at Francis. "And even if he had, I find it hard to believe that after eight weeks he suddenly doesn't love the woman he married and instead loves his best friend."

"You shouldn't talk to me about this. Perhaps talking to him might be better." Francis muses, tapping his foot as he thinks.

"I don't think he'll want to talk to me. I asked him to leave. He won't be there when I get home." Vash sighs, tucking his hands into his pockets and kicking at the floor.

"Ugh, how are you such an idiot with people? I thought you were supposed to be smart." Francis groans, pressing a hand over his face.

"I  _am_ smart. I had an IQ of one hundred and two when I was eighteen. Just because I understand science and maths better than you do doesn't mean I understand  _people_." Vash huffs. "I am not a people person in any way. You know that."

"You're as bad as Arthur." Francis rolls his eyes affectionately. "Honestly, it's a wonder either of you actually have friends."

"If you're going to be so supportive, I think I might just go and talk to him instead." Vash grumbles, stepping away from Francis and moving back towards the main entrance.

"Don't be stupid." Francis laughs. "I'm joking."

"I'm not. He might be useful, actually." Vash muses, almost mockingly. "He knows what it feels like to be horrendous in social situations."

Francis huffs, folding his arms across his chest and glowering at him playfully.

"I see how it is, Zwingli." The older man flounces, flipping his hair around his face and turning on his heel to stalk back into the kitchen.

"It's not that I don't appreciate your help, Francis, you know that." Vash rolls his eyes and pulls his hands from his pockets to rearrange his hair. "I need to speak to Arthur anyway, so I figure I should kill two birds with one stone."

"Fine." Francis huffs again, finally conceding and looking Vash up and down quickly. "But that doesn't sound good."

"Don't worry." Vash laughs softly. "It's nothing serious. I've been meaning to talk to him for a while now, actually."

"I still don't like the sound of that. Please, don't kill him." Francis reaches over and squeezes his bicep and looks at him with pleading eyes. "I like having him alive and you out of jail."

"It's nothing, okay? I need to think and museums are quiet, and it just so happens that he works in a museum."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"I suppose not." Francis smiles weakly and kisses him on the cheek, pulling back to watch as he turns to leave. "Hey, Vash?"

"Mm?"

"How was your first kiss?"

The younger blonde freezes and stares at him for a moment, before he relaxes just a little and sighs softly.

"Honestly? It was... Okay. It would've been better if I didn't throw him out of the house five minutes after, but it was okay. Nice, even. I could get used to it, I think." Vash muses for a moment, nipping at his bottom lip as he thinks.

"Do you still  _just_  want to kiss him?" Francis asks jovially, smirking as he folds his arms across his chest.

Vash flushes pink across his cheekbones and huffs, turning and marching towards the door.

"Don't ask such stupid questions!"

Francis just laughs as he leaves.

Vash is halfway down the street when he goes stalking past the Starbucks where he works, to find Anton deeply engaged with some boy he's never seen before, pressed up against the covered entranceway to the health food store next door.

He shakes his head, tugs his phone out of his pocket and composes a quick text.

_Kirkland. I hope you aren't busy. I'm heading down to the museum now –we need to talk. What's your coffee order?_

He keeps it in his hand as he trudges towards the counter, where Berwald and Henri appear to be having some kind of heated discussion –on Henri's part at least.

"Morning." He says as he reaches the counter, and Henri's eyes shoot up to look at him, and his whole body practically sighs with relief.

"Oh, thank God. You're back. Never have I been so happy to see a colleague." Henri grins at him. Berwald mumbles in agreement, nodding at him. Vash's phone vibrates in his hand.

_I'm not especially busy, no. Why do you need to talk to me? About Francis, I assume. Just get me anything with caffeine in it, I don't care. Also, perhaps bring some sort of weaponry, otherwise I might be force to bludgeon Sadik and Heracles to death with a bust of Nero._

Vash laughs shallowly, and Henri raises an eyebrow at him.

"I assume you're here for coffee and not just to snicker at your phone?" Henri replies, and Vash glowers at him.

"Just the usual, and a large coffee to go, please."

Henri runs it through and starts chattering about something, but Vash zones out for the most part until Henri is presenting him with his drinks.

"Oh, and this is kind of a strange question, but did you see Anton on your way here? He left on his break about half an hour ago; he should be back by now."

"Yeah, he was outside with some dark haired guy. They didn't notice me though –they seemed a little busy making out."

Henri laughs victoriously, and turns to point at Berwald and jab him in the chest.

"See! I  _told_ you they were having sex and you didn't believe me! Ha!"

"You know, I'm not going to ask." Vash shakes his head, and Berwald nods in agreement.

"Best you don't." He mumbles, and Vash turns to leave. Henri doesn't even pause his cackling to say goodbye.

Vash arrives at the museum twenty minutes later. Arthur is pacing up and down in the main foyer, which is a grand, high-ceilinged room and only serves to make the Englishman look tinier than he actually is.

"Here." Vash holds out the cardboard coffee cup to him, and Arthur practically deflates with relief.

"Oh, thank God you're here." He takes the cup from him and takes a few quick sips. "I've been  _this close_ to smashing a priceless painting over their heads all day. They're menaces."

Right on cue, Heracles and Sadik come marching through one of the side doors, through the foyer and out of the other side, all whilst yelling at each other. The doors have just swung shut when Demitri comes flying through after them, dragging a broom behind him and yelling something about 'Mr. Adnan! Mr. Karpusi! Can't you two please get along?"

"I see what you mean." Vash stares after them, wide-eyed, and Arthur shakes his head in disdain. "That aside, I need to talk to you. Privately. Do you have an office?"

Arthur leads him to a room that is no bigger than a small closet, with a desk and two chairs somehow wedged in there. Vash notices the pristine sign on the door that proudly proclaims  _Office of Mr. A. Kirkland, Collections Manager_ , and laughs almost derisively.

Arthur directs Vash to the chair opposite the desk and takes his own seat behind the desk and starts fiddling with the mouse. He types a few things quickly and then pauses, takes a long sip from his coffee.

"What is it you wanted? We have a loan of some Vermeer paintings from a museum in Berlin coming in today –I need to be free to sort that out and to arrange the shipment of the Degas pieces we're loaning them in return." Arthur spins in his chair and fiddles with a combination lock on one of the filing cabinets behind him, until it unlocks and he can tug the drawer open. He grabs a folder thick with paperwork and begins leafing through it quickly.

"I just needed to talk to you about a few things." Vash says, popping the lid from his coffee cup and drinking the dregs. "The first of which is about Roderich."

"What about him?"

"He kissed me."

" _Finally_."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Vash retorts indignantly, and Arthur just laughs at him. "It's not like anything will come of it, anyway."

At this, Arthur looks up from the stack of papers and raises an eyebrow at him.

"Tell me you're joking."

"Why would I be joking?" Vash huffs, busying himself with tugging at the sleeves of his jacket.

"My god, you're a friggin' idiot." Arthur groans, burying his face in his hands. "Generally speaking, when someone kisses you, it means that they  _want_ something to come of it. And don't you dare lie to me and say that you don't want him."

"Of course I want him. It's just...  _Him_."

"What did he say to you? After you kissed, I mean." Arthur sets three pieces of paper off to the size and forces the rest back inside the folder.

"I accused him of pretending he loved me, because he married Elizabeta, and he insisted he wasn't. I didn't believe him, so I asked him to leave."

"Well, that complicates matters." Arthur sighs, taking a sip of his coffee and fiddling with the pen in his hand. "In any other circumstance I'd suggest you both cool down for a while, but that might not work."

"I just don't understand. How can he claim to love me when two months ago he got married to somebody else?"

"Sometimes it takes something like that to make people notice." Arthur muses. "You didn't see him while you were away, Vash. He looked like someone had kicked his puppy for six weeks solid."

"That's not the point, Arthur. I'm not willing to be a rebound. I want him to actually mean it." Vash sighs, ruffling his hair. "And now I sound like Francis."

"Pardon?"

"He's worried. About your relationship. He thinks you've just bounced back to him because you got bored of Alfred. And he knows you could get bored with him again, because that's why you left him in the first place."

Arthur swallows thickly and looks cross the table at the other blonde with wet eyes.

"Honestly, Arthur, I'm not going to claim I know your relationship or your mental facets as well as you or Francis does, but I know him. He'd never tell you this himself, so I will. Please, look after him. He hasn't had it easy, especially not with you, so if I hear even a  _whisper_  of you upsetting him, your life expectancy will be significantly reduced. I'm trusting you to be good to him."

Arthur knots his fingers into his bangs and presses the heel of his palms into his eyes.

"I want to ask him to marry me." He murmurs, looking up through his fingers at the younger man.

"Good. I can't promise he'll say yes, especially given your situation, but I'm glad to hear you're committed."

"I don't mean now –I just know that I want to." Arthur clarifies. "If it makes you feel better, I know I love him. He's all I want."

"I'm glad." Vash nods firmly. "He deserves to be happy. But, this doesn't solve my situation with Roderich."

"Have you tried explaining yourself to him?" Arthur asks, straightening himself up and wiping furiously at his eyes.

"Of course I have." Vash scoffs. "But he didn't understand."

"Did you give him chance to?" Arthur raises an eyebrow scornfully. "You probably threw him out before he even finished his bloody sentence."

Vash stays pointedly silent, but the glower Arthur finds himself on the receiving end of is enough of a 'yes' for him.

"Look, he still lives in the same building as me. I need to go grab some clothes and pants for tomorrow after work –if you want to come with me and try to talk to him then, then you're more than welcome to tag along."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea." Vash shakes his head, his hair falling wildly into his eyes. "I mean, he probably doesn't want to talk to me."

"For Christ's sake, Vash." Arthur groans. "Be positive, for once in your life. Worst case scenario, he doesn't want to talk to you and things feel weird for a while, but you two have been best friends for the better part of fourteen  _years_ , you've probably been through worse. Best case scenario, you're on your way to going out with the boy you've adored for as long as you can remember. I know you're scared, but trust me, you have nothing to worry about."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while, I had to do adult things and sign rental leases and go furniture shopping and finish A Level courses and other fun things D:
> 
> anyway, more new people/reappearances:  
> Ion = Moldova (the reason he looks 'familiar' is because he's Anton's brother)  
> Jett (who is mentioned in like one line) = Australia  
> Nicolai = Andorra  
> Demitri = Cyprus
> 
> Also, if it wasn't immediately obvious, Arthur/Heracles/Sadik/Demitri work in an art history museum/gallery, hence the Degas, Vermeer and Nero.


	27. Chapter 27

Vash eventually resolves to wait with Arthur at the museum until the older man finishes his shift. This mostly involves breaking up fights between Heracles and Sadik, and helping to cart around large shipping crates of paintings and sculptures so they can be positioned by the curator tomorrow. By the end of the day, Vash can honestly say he has no idea why Arthur likes working there so much.

"Did you drive?" Arthur asks as he scoops up his messenger bag and grabs his car keys from his desk.

"No, I walked." Vash explains as Arthur ushers him towards the parking lot and opens the passenger side door.

"Right. Get in." Arthur orders him, bustling him into the car before he circles around and clambers into the driver's side.

Arthur starts the car and pulls away from the parking lot, carefully turning on to the main road.

"Now, I'm not going to say this will go well for the both of you, since you're both oblivious, stubborn _mules_ ," Arthur says, turning to the younger blonde as he stops in traffic, "but you should be okay. You like him. He likes you. At least it's mutual. There are far worse situations to be in."

The Brit shrugs and the car starts moving again. They both remain silent for a few moments, until Vash hesitates and opens his mouth to speak.

"Arthur, can I ask something of you?"

"Go ahead."

"Please, don't hurt Francis again."

"Pardon?"

"You heard me." Vash closes his eyes and shakes his head lightly. "I don't understand why he took you back so easily, nor do I claim to, but I want him to be safe, and happy, whether that is with you or not. When you two were apart, it was horrible. There were times when I'd leave for college in morning and come home from work in the evening and he wouldn't have even moved from his bed. He'd still be sitting there, crying and hugging an album of photographs. I'd ask him if he was okay, but he'd never answer. I'd just bring him tea and sit with him to make sure he was okay."

Arthur stays quiet, but his grip on the steering wheel tightens to the point that his knuckles begin to turn white.

"Then you argued at the bar that night, and you invited him to your housewarming –which was horribly cruel of you, just so you know– and I've never seen him cry harder than then. I was worried to leave him alone because of it. I made sure Antonio would keep an eye on him when I wasn't around, and thankfully, he was okay, but no thanks to you."

"I'm sorry, Vash. I had no idea you felt so passionately about this." Arthur admits quietly, his voice no louder than a murmur. He pulls over and stops the car on the side of the road, but if Vash notices, he says nothing.

"It's not me you should be apologizing to. Francis waited for you, even when it seemed like you'd moved on, and would never look at him the way you used to. He held on, convinced himself you'd come back even when I told him you wouldn't and that you weren't worth him crying over. He was so sure of himself, so sure of  _you_ that when you came waltzing back into his life like nothing had changed, I warned him to be careful. To not let you in as easily, because you'd probably only hurt him again. Naturally, he didn't listen to me." Vash hesitates and swallows dryly, looking sideways to briefly meet the other man's worried gaze. "Arthur, please don't destroy him like that again. I don't want to wake up at three in the morning to him sobbing and telling me that he doesn't want to live any more, that if you can't love him then nobody will and that he should just  _go_. I don't want to have to worry if he'll still be alive when I wake up. He loves you so much, more than I think you deserve, and I don't want to hear of you ripping his heart out and parading it in front of him again."

"I won't." Arthur replies, his voice a low whisper. "I promise. I know I didn't deserve a second chance, but he gave me one anyway, and I don't think either of you understand how grateful I am for that. I didn't even deserve to look at him, really, I was stupid and I thought I'd found something better with Alfred, but what I didn't realize then is that no one is better for me than he is."

Arthur swallows and exhales heavily, wiping hastily at his eyes with the back of his hand. He straightens himself up in his seat and starts the car, tapping his hands on the wheel as he waits to pull away from the sidewalk.

"I can't believe it took you that long to realize." Vash shakes his head as if in disdain, but the small smile quirking at the corners of his mouth give him away. "I'm surprised that argument you had at the bar after Roderich and Elizabeta got engaged didn't convince you right then."

"Looking back, it probably should've been my first clue." Arthur laughs dryly, the sound almost bitter, and his hands tighten subconsciously again. "I think I chose to ignore it there, pretended like it didn't make me want to kiss him stupid, you know?"

"I know." Vash's smile is wry at best, and his plays with his hair, suddenly nervous as the traffic creeps closer to Roderich's apartment.

Arthur parks the car a few steps down the street, and Vash sighs shakily and fingers through his hair again.

"I don't think I can do this." He mutters as Arthur circles around the car and opens the passenger side door, leaning down and raising a cynical eyebrow at him. "What do I even say to him?"

"Shut up. You can do this." Arthur grabs his arm and forces him out of the car, slamming the door closed behind him. "You tell him that you needed to think. That you like him, but you aren't prepared to be his rebound from his ex-wife."

"You make it sound easier than it is." Vash grumbles as Arthur frogmarches him up the flights of stairs to the door of Roderich's apartment. The Brit stares at him blankly for a moment, before he sighs and shakes his head.

"Stay here." He instructs him, releasing his arm and moving in front of him to face the door. He knocks loudly, three quick raps, then quickly skirts around the younger man and towards his own door. "If he doesn't answer in the next few minutes, see if the door's unlocked. If it is, go inside."

Arthur smiles almost encouragingly before he unlocks his own door and disappears inside. Vash glowers after him for a few moments until he hears Roderich's voice echo from behind the door.

"It's open!"

Vash pushes the door and, true to his word, it creaks open. He steps cautiously into the hallway, dubious as though Roderich will leap out and shovel him back outside because he doesn't want to see him.

"I'm upstairs!"

Vash finds himself thinking that he sounds entirely too happy for someone who could've ruined a fifteen year friendship not eight hours earlier, as he climbs the stairs and fumbles towards the door to Roderich's room. He hesitates outside, reminds himself how to breathe before he pushes open the door and steps inside.

Roderich's room looks much the same as it used to when he still lived there, Vash muses as he surveys the room. The walls are still white and the comforter is still a rich shade of purple, his clothes are still scattered all over the floor and hanging out of drawers and the wardrobe, and his notice board is still covered in pins and useless pieces of paper and photographs.

The man himself is, as always, hunched over an easel and a large canvas in the far corner of the room, palette and paintbrush in hand. He doesn't notice Vash's presence, so the shorter man knocks quietly on the open door. The brunette wheels around and stares at him, eyes wide behind his glasses.

"Vash, what are you-" He starts, clumsily shifting the palette he's holding flat in his left hand and setting the palette down on a small table beside the easel. "What are you doing here?"

Vash hesitates, his eyes meeting Roderich's across the room, and he takes a few tentative steps towards him.

"We need to talk."

He hears Roderich's breath stutter, and watches as the brunette fumbles with his equipment, flipping the paintbrush through his fingers until it lands messily on the floor, spreading a smear of mossy green across the carpet. He sighs and picks the brush up, setting it on the palette and kneeling to wipe up the paint.

Vash steps over a pile of clothes and pulls a tissue he'd previously used to wipe his eyes from his pocket, and kneels beside Roderich, wiping at the paint while the brunette watches numbly.

"What are you painting? I know your preferred colour schemes, and I'm quite sure this isn't in any of them." Vash regards the paint that has strayed on to his hand with a curious expression.

"It doesn't matter." Roderich straightens himself out and shakes his head, pulling at the bottom hem of his sweater absently. "You wouldn't understand anyway."

"Just because I don't necessarily  _understand_ art doesn't mean I don't appreciate it." Vash retorts, folding his arms. "And besides, it's  _your_ art. If I didn't understand it right away, I'd make every effort to make sure that I could in the future."

He realizes that he may have revealed more of himself than he meant to when Roderich's expression softens ever so slightly and the taller man cocks his head at him.

"It's just some work for my final project for college. I've been working on it for some time, and it's almost finished, except some parts keep giving me trouble."

Vash knows he's deflecting from the real reason he's here when he steps closer to Roderich and looks him straight in the face.

"At least let me see it, then. I'm not saying I'll be able to help, but I know you, you're probably being overly critical of yourself."

Roderich picks up on the heaviness of his voice, even more so as the words  _I know you_ fall from his lips in that softening accent of his. The brunette fumbles with his hair again, before he shuffles sheepishly to the side and allows Vash to look at the work sitting on the easel.

The blonde remains silent for a minute or two, and with each passing second Roderich feels his face burn an even deeper shade of pink.

Vash's mouth hangs open in quiet awe as he regards the painting in front of him. It's drawn from a photograph of himself and Roderich when they were no older than seven –Roderich has thick, rounded glasses and floppy brown hair, and his younger self is sporting choppy, messy hair and a green band-aid on his cheek. He vaguely remembers the day the photograph was taken –it had been late October, just before Roderich's birthday, and his mother had taken them for ice cream. Roderich is raising one arm at the camera, still a little softer around the edges from baby fat he'd go on to lose, and his other hand is curled tight around Vash's wrist. He was being pulled along, that much he remembers, but he's laughing –there's a sparkle in his eyes and he's grinning, bigger than he remembers doing in years. The painting itself has a vaguely impressionistic quality to it, Vash notes, the one thing he remembers from high school art classes, and overall it's one of the more breathtaking pieces Roderich has produced over the years. He opens his mouth to tell him this, but he's cut off before he can utter a word.

"I've spent three hours trying to get your eyes the right colour." Roderich laughs sheepishly. "It's so _stupid_ , no one will even notice that when they're looking at it from two feet away, but I can't get them to look right. They're always too dark, or too bright, or too blue."

Vash turns to stare at him, eyes wide.

"You really think that matters?"

"Of course it matters." Roderich scoffs. "It's you."

"Roderich..." Vash starts gingerly, even his voice wary as he meets Roderich's gaze.

"Vash, I'm not going to pretend that I've always known how I feel about you. I haven't. At first you were this new kid in my class I was told to befriend so he'd have someone to talk to. Then you became my best friend, the boy who'd sit through silly drama movies and sitcoms that he didn't like because I wanted to watch them, and would in turn make me watch god awful science fiction movies with him. You were the best friend I could've asked for, especially when I went through everything with Antonio and Gilbert. You didn't have to put up with the phone calls at three am when I couldn't stop crying, but you did anyway. You didn't have to try and put me back together again when we broke up, but you sat with me and helped me without me even having to ask."

"You're right, I didn't have to." Vash muses quietly. "But I wanted to. You know why. I kept hoping you'd notice me like that, maybe just kiss me on the cheek or hold my hand when we went to the movies."

"Even then?"

"Even then."

There's a sureness in Vash's voice that startles Roderich, and he looks up through his glasses to hold Vash's gaze firmly.

"I'm sorry that it took you flying to Europe for me to realize how I feel. You deserve more than I can give you, and I'm sorry. Liz and I are getting a divorce. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"I know." Vash replies softly, his voice a low murmur.

"If –if you could find yourself forgiving me for everything I've put you through, do you think I could ask you out to dinner? Nothing has to come of it, you don't even have to say yes, you're just beautiful and enigmatic and I know I've done nothing to deserve you but I want to try anyway."

"You're rambling." Vash points out, his voice firm but not unkind.

"Sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

"I'm sor-er, I don't mean to." Roderich replies sheepishly. Vash shakes his head, and Roderich thinks he spots a faint smirk on his lips.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, when your divorce comes through, you can take me to dinner. But I warn you; potentially dating me won't be easy."

"I don't want it to be easy. I just want it to be you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the chapter basically consists of one Serious Talk after another. I think they deserve the capitals. This was also finished at ridiculous o'clock in the morning, so I may go back and change some things when I reread it at a sensible time.
> 
> Nothing much to say this chapter, other than that there are very few (maybe 3 at best) chapters to go before this is done. However, this doesn't mean I won't still be writing these characters -this fic is a basis for a series/universe/whatever, after all- so I have a question.
> 
> When this fic is finished, are there any particular couples/characters that you'd like to see be 'expanded' on? I'm still in the process of writing a Lovino/Antonio about the week they spent apart when they were arguing, and I'm considering something with Gilbert and Matthew, and perhaps something about Elizabeta, maybe. So my question is, anything you'd like to see? Whether it be immediately following/preceding/during the events of this fic itself, or a few years in the future or so on.
> 
> Let me know c:


End file.
